tibvoxy  of  Che  ^theological  Seminar? 

PRINCETON  •  NEW  JERSEY 


PRESENTED  BY 

G-errish  Thurber 
SCC"ffll,I45 
Kebie,  John,  1792-1866. 
Christian  year  :  thoughts  in  verse  for  the 
Sundays  and  hoiydays  throughout  the  yeai 


r 


~M 


( 


JU1    1H 


1951 


THE 


CHRISTIAN    YEAR: 


{[to  in  ftaw 


SUNDAYS  AND  HOLIDAYS 


THROUGHOUT  THE  YEAR. 


BY  THE  EEV.  JOHN  KEBLE, 

VICAB  OF  HUR8LEY. 


In  quietness  and  in  confidence  shall  be  your  strength.-IsMAH  xxx.  15 


ELEGANTLY  ILLUSTRATED  BY  BCHMOLZE. 


Ncfa  Ecition. 


PHILADELPHIA : 
PUBLISHED  BY  E.  II.  BUTLER  &  CO. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Next  to  a  sound  rule  of  faith,  there  is  nothing 
of  so  much  consequence  as  a  sober  standard  of 
feeling  in  matters  of  practical  religion :  and  it  is 
th*3  peculiar  happiness  of  the  Church  of  England 
to  possess,  in  her  authorized  formularies,  an  ample 
and  secure  provision  for  both.  But  in  times  of 
much  leisure  and  unbounded  curiosity,  when  ex- 
citement of  eve^  kind  is  sought  after  with  a 
morbid  eagerness,  this  part  of  the  merit  of  our 
Liturgy  is  likely  in  some  measure  to  be  lost,  on 
many  even  of  its  sincere  admirers :  the  very  tem- 
pers, which  most  require  such  discipline,  setting 
themselves,  in  general,  most  decidedly  against  it. 

1  *  (5) 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  object  of  the  present  publication  will  be 
attained,  if  any  person  find  assistance  from  it  in 
bringing  his  own  thoughts  and  feelings  into  more 
entire  unison  with  those  recommended  and  ex- 
emplified in  the  Prayer  Book.  The  work  does  not 
furnish  a  complete  series  of  compositions  ;  being,  in 
many  parts,  rather  adapted  with  more  or  less  pro- 
priety to  the  successive  portions  of  the  Liturgy? 
than  originally  suggested  by  them.  Something  has 
been  added  at  the  end  concerning  the  several  Oc- 
casional Services  :  which  constitute,  from  their  per- 
sonal and  domestic  nature,  the  most  perfect  instance 
of  that  soothing  tendenc}'  in  the  Prayer  Book,  which 
it  is  the  chief  purpose  of  these  pages  to  exhibit. 


CONTENTS. 


Tage 

Morning 13 

Evening 16 

Advent  Sunday    ..........  19 

Second  Sunday  in  Advent     .         .         The  Signs  of  the  Times         .  23 

Third  Sunday  in  Advent       .         .          The  Travellers    ...  26 

Fourth  Sunday  in  Advent               .         Dimness              ...  30 

Christinas  Day      ..........  33 

St.  Stephen's  Day 37 

St.  John's  Day               40 

The  Holy  Innocents 42 

First  Sunday  after  Christmas        .         The  Sun-dial  of  Ahaz          .  45 

The  Circumcision          .........  48 

Second  Sunday  after  Christmas    .         The  Pilgrim's  Song      .         .  52 

The  Epiphany 55 

First  Sunday  after  Epiphany         .          The  Nightingale           .         .  58 

Second  Sunday  after  Epiphany     .          The  Secret  of  perpetual  Youth  61 

Third  Sunday  after  Epiphany        .          The  Good  Centurion    .  65 
Fourth  Sunday  after  Epiphany     .          The  World  is  for  Excitement,  the 

Gospel  for  Soothing         .  69 

Fifth  Sunday  after  Epiphany        .         Cure  Sin  and  you  cure  Sorrow  72 

Sixth  Sunday  after  Epiphany        .         The  Benefits  of  Uncertainty  76 

Septuagesima  Sunday 80 

Sexagesima  Sunday 83 

Quinquagesima  Sunday        ........  87 

Ash-Wednesday 90 


viii                                          CONTENTS. 

Page 

First  Sunday  in  Lent 

The  City  of  Refuge     . 

93 

Second  Sunday  in  Lent 

Esau's  Forfeit     . 

96 

Tbird  Sunday  in  Lent 

The  Spoils  of  Satan     . 

99 

Fourth  Sunday  in  Lent 

The  Rosebud 

102 

Fifth  Sunday  in  Lent 

The  Burning  Bush     . 

105 

Sunday  next  before  Easter 

The  Children  in  the  Temple 

109 

Monday  before  Easter 

Christ  waiting  for  the  Cross 

112 

Tuesday  before  Easter 

Christ  refusing  the  Wine  and 

Myrrh    .... 

115 

Wednesday  before  Easter 

Christ  in  the  Garden 

118 

Thursday  before  Easter 

The  Vision  of  the  latter  Day 

s     122 

Good  Friday 

125 

128 

131 

Monday  in  Easter  Week 

St.  Peter  and  Cornelius 

134 

Tuesday  in  Easter  Week 

The  Snoic-drop 

137 

First  Sunday  after  Easter    . 

The  Restless  Faslor  reprovec 

I      140 

Second  Sunday  after  Easter 

Balaam 

144 

Third  Sunday  after  Easter 

Languor  and  Travail 

147 

Fourth  Sunday  after  Easter 

The  Dove  on  the  Cross 

150 

Fifth  Sunday  after  Easter 

The  Priest's  Intercessor 

154 

158 

Sunday  after  Ascension  Day 

Seed-time    . 

.       1G1 

105 

Monday  in  Whitsun-Week    . 

The  City  of  Confusion 

.       168 

Tuesday  in  Whitsun-Week 

Holy  Orders 

.       173 

177 

First  Sunday  after  Trinity 

Israel  among  the  Ruins  of 

Ca- 

naan 

.       180 

Second  Sunday  after  Trinity 

Charity  the  Life  of  Faith 

.       182 

Third  Sunday  after  Trinity 

Comfort  for  Sinners  in  the _, 

pre- 

sence  of  the  Good     . 

.       186 

Fourth  Sunday  after  Trinity 

The  Groans  of  Nature 

.       188 

Fifth  Sunday  after  Trinity 

The  Fishermen  of  Bethsaidc 

i       193 

CONTENTS. 


Sixth  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Seventh  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Eighth  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Ninth  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Tenth  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Eleventh  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Twelfth  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Thirteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Fourteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Fifteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity  . 
Sixteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity  . 
Seventeenth  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Eighteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Nineteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity 


Twentieth  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Twenty-first  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Twenty-second  Sunday  after  Trinity 

Twenty-third  Sunday  after  Trinity 
Twenty-fourth  Sunday  after  Trinity 


Twenty-fifth  Sunday  after  Trinity 

Sunday  next  before  Advent 

St.  Andrew's  Day         . 

St.  Thomas  the  Apostle        . 

Conversion  of  St.  Paul         . 

Purification  of  St.  Mary  the  Virgin 

St.  Matthias'  Day 

Annunciation  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary    . 

St.  Mark's  Day 

St.  Philip  and  St.  James'  Day 
St.  Barnabas  the  Apostle      . 
St.  John  Baptist's  Day  . 


The  Psalmist  repenting 

The  Feast  in  the  Wilderness  . 

The  Disobedient  Prophet 

Elijah  in  Horeb    . 

Christ  ivceping  over  Jerusalem 

Gchazi  reproved   . 

The  Deaf  and  Dumb    . 

Moses  on  the  Mount 

The  Ten  Lepers    . 

The  Flowers  of  the  Field      . 

Hope  is  better  than  Ease 

EzekieVs  Vision  in  the  Temple 

The  Church  in  the  Wilderness 

Shadrach,  Mcshach,  and  Abed- 
nego         .... 

Mountain  Scenery 

The  Redbreast  in  September 

The  Rule  of  Christian  For- 
giveness   .... 

Forest  Leaves  in  Autumn 

Lmperfection  of  Human  Sym- 
pathy       .... 

The  two  Rainbows 

Self-examination  before  Advent 


Page 

196 

199 
202 

205 
208 
211 
214 
218 
°22 
225 
228 
231 
235 

240 
243 
246 

249 

252 

255 
258 
261 
265 
268 
272 
277 
281 
284 
287 
289 
292 
295 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

St.  Peter's  Day             298 

St.  James  the  Apostle 302 

St.  Bartholomew  the  Apostle 305 

St.  Matthew  the  Apostle      ........  309 

St.  Michael  and  all  Angels 313 

St.  Luke  the  Evangelist 317 

St.  Simon  and  St.  Jude,  Apostles 32J 

All  Saints'  Day 324 

Holy  Communion          ......•••  327 

Holy  Baptism       .         .         .         .         .         .         •         •         •         .331 

Catechism             ..........  334 

Confirmation        ........••  33G 

Matrimony           ..........  338 

Visitation  and  Communion  of  the  Sick          .....  341 

Burial  of  the  Dead 344 

Churching  of  Women  .........  347 

Commination        ..........  349 

Forms  of  Prayer  to  be  used  at  Sea      ......  352 

Gunpowder  Treason     .........  354 

King  Charles  the  Martyr 357 

The  Restoration  of  the  Royal  Family SCO 

The  Accession 363 

Ordination            ..........  366 

Index           ...                  .......  369 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FROM  ORIGINAL  DESIGN'S  EXECUTED  EXPRESSLY  FOR  THIS  EDITION. 


SUBJECT 

Portrait  of  Keble 

Morning   . 

Evening    . 

Christmas  Day 

Hezekiah 

The  Bow  . 

Easter  Day 

"Far  opening  down,"  &o 

Moses  on  the  Mount 

"  Man's  portion  is  to  die 


painter 
Richmond 
Schmolze 
schmolze 
Schmolze 
Schmolze 
Schuessele 
Schmolze 
Schmolze 
Schmolze 
"  Schmolze 


ENGRAVER  PAOE 

.     Whitechurch     Frontispiece 
.     GREATBAcn  Title  Page 


.  Greatbach 

.  Greatbach 

.  Greatbach 

.  McRae 

.  Greatbach 

.  Greatbach 

.  Greatbach 

.  Greatbach 


13 

45 

87 

131 

168 

21S 
252 


MORNING. 

His  compassions  fail  not.     They  are  new  every  morning.      Lament,  iii.  22,  23. 

Hues  of  the  rich  unfolding  morn, 
That,  ere  the  glorious  sun  be  born, 
By  some  soft  touch  invisible 
Around  his  path  are  taught  to  swell ; — 

Thou  rustling  breeze  so  fresh  and  gay, 
That  dancest  forth  at  opening  day, 
And  brushing  by  with  joyous  wing, 
Wakenest  each  little  leaf  to  sing ; — 

Ye  fragrant  clouds  of  dewy  steam, 
By  which  deep  grove  and  tangled  stream, 
Pay,  for  soft  rains  in  season  given, 
Their  tribute  to  the  genial  heaven ; — 

Why  waste  your  treasures  of  delight 
Upon  our  thankless,  joyless  sight ; 
Who  day  by  day  to  sin  awake, 
Seldom  of  Heaven  and  you  partake  ? 
2  (13) 


14  MORNING. 


Oh!  timely  happy,  timely  wise, 
Hearts  that  with  rising  morn  arise ! 
Eyes  that  the  beam  celestial  view, 
Which  evermore  makes  all  things  new  !a 

New  every  morning  is  the  love 
Our  wakening  and  uprising  prove ; 
Through  sleep  and  darkness  safely  brought, 
Restored  to  life,  and  power,  and  thought. 

New  mercies,  each  returning  day, 

Hover  around  us  while  we  pray ; 

New  perils  past,  new  sins  forgiven, 

New  thoughts  of  God,  new  hopes  of  Heaven. 

If  on  our  daily  course  our  mind 
Be  set  to  hallow  all  we  find, 
New  treasures  still,  of  countless  price, 
God  will  provide  for  sacrifice. 

Old  friends,  old  scenes,  will  lovelier  be, 
As  more  of  Heaven  in  each  we  see  : 
Some  softening  gleam  of  love  and  prayer 
Shall  dawn  on  every  cross  and  care. 

As  for  some  dear  familiar  strain 
Untir'd  we  ask,  and  ask  again,  . 
Ever,  in  its  melodious  store, 
Finding  a  spell  unheard  before ; 

a  Revelations  xxi.  5. 


MORNING. 


15 


Such  is  the  bliss  of  souls  serene, 

When  they  have  sworn,  and  stedfast  mean, 

Counting  the  cost,  in  all  to'  espy 

Their  God,  in  all  themselves  deny. 

0  could  we  learn  that  sacrifice, 
What  lights  would  all  around  us  rise ! 
How  would  our  hearts  with  wisdom  talk 
Alone;  Life's  dullest  dreariest  walk  ! 

We  need  not  bid,  for  cloister'd  cell, 
Our  neighbour  and  our  work  farewell 
Nor  strive  to  wind  ourselves  too  high 
For  sinful  man  beneath  the  sky  : 

The  trivial  round,  the  common  task, 
Would  furnish  all  we  ought  to  ask ; 
Room  to  deny  ourselves ;  a  road 
To  bring  us,  daity,  nearer  God. 

Seek  we  no  more ;  content  with  these, 
Let  present  Rapture,  Comfort,  Ease, 
As  Heaven  shall  bid  them,  come  and  go  : — 
The  secret  this  of  Rest  below. 

Only,  0  Lord,  in  Thy  dear  love 
Fit  us  for  perfect  Rest  above ; 
And  help  us,  this  and  every  day, 
To  live  more  nearly  as  we  pray, 


EVENING. 


Abide  with  ns :  for  it  is  toward  evening,  and  the  day  is  far  spent. 
St.  Luke  xxiv.  29. 


'Tis  gone,  that  bright  and  orbed  blaze, 
Fast  fading  from  our  wistful  gaze ; 
Yon  mantling  cloud  has  hid  from  sight 
The  last  faint  pulse  of  quivering  light. 

In  darkness  and  in  weariness 
The  traveller  on  his  way  must  press, 
No  gleam  to  watch  on  tree  or  tower, 
Whiling  away  the  lonesome  hour. 

Sun  of  my  soul !  Thou  Saviour  dear, 
It  is  not  night  if  Thou  be  near : 
Oh !  may  no  earth-born  cloud  arise 
To  hide  Thee  from  Thy  servant's  eyes. 

When  round  Thy  wondrous  works  below 
My  searching  rapturous  glance  I  throw, 
Tracing  out  Wisdom,  Power,  and  Love, 
In  earth  or  sky,  in  stream  or  grove ; — 

fl6) 


EVENING.  17 


Or  by  the  light  Thy  words  disclose 
Watch  Time's  full  river  as  it  flows, 
Scanning  Thy  gracious  Providence, 
Where  not  too  deep  for  mortal  sense  : — 

When  with  dear  friends  sweet  talk  I  hold, 
And  all  the  flowers  of  life  unfold ; 
Let  not  my  heart  within  me  burn, 
Except  in  all  I  Thee  discern. 

When  the  soft  dews  of  kindly  sleep 
My  wearied  eyelids  gently  steep, 
Be  my  last  thought,  how  sweet  to  rest 
For  ever  on  my  Saviour's  breast. 

Abide  with  me  from  morn  till  eve, 
For  without  Thee  I  cannot  live : 
Abide  with  me  when  night  is  nigh, 
For  without  Thee  I  dare  not  die. 

Thou  Framer  of  the  light  and  dark, 
Steer  through  the  tempest  Thine  own  ark : 
Amid  the  howling  wintry  sea 
We  are  in  port  if  we  have  Thee.b 

b  Then  they  willingly  received  Hiin  into  the  ship:  and  immediately  the 
ship  was  at  the  land  whither  they  went.     St.  John  vi.  21. 
2  * 


18  EVENING. 


The  Rulers  of  this  Christian  land, 
'Twixt  Thee  and  us  ordained  to  stand, — 
Guide  Thou  their  course,  0  Lord,  aright, 
Let  all  do  all  as  in  Thy  sight. 

Oh !  by  Thine  own  sad  burthen,  borne 
So  meekly  up  the  hill  of  scorn, 
Teach  Thou  Thy  Priests  their  daily  cross 
To  bear  as  Thine,  nor  count  it  loss ! 

If  some  poor  wandering  child  of  Thine 
Have  spurn'd,  to-day,  the  voice  divine, 
Now,  Lord,  the  gracious  work  begin ; 
Let  him  no  more  lie  down  in  sin. 

Watch  by  the  sick :  enrich  the  poor 
With  blessings  from  Thy  boundless  store : 
Be  every  mourner's  sleep  to-night 
Like  infant's  slumbers,  pure  and  light. 

Come  near  and  bless  us  when  we  wake, 
Ere  through  the  world  our  way  we  take : 
Till  in  the  ocean  of  Thy  love 
We  lose  ourselves  in  Heaven  above. 


ADVENT    SUNDAY. 


Now  it  is  high  time  to  awake  out  of  sleep:  for  now  is   our  salvation  nearer 
than  when  we  believed.     Romans  xiii.  11. 


Awake — again  the  Gospel-trump  is  blown — 
From  year  to  year  it  swells  with  louder  tone, 
From  year  to  year  the  signs  of  wrath 
Are  gathering  round  the  Judge's  path, 
Strange  words  fulfill'd,  and  mighty  works  achiev'd, 
And  truth  in  all  the  world  both  hated  and  believ'd. 

Awake !   why  linger  in  the  gorgeous  town, 
Sworn  liegemen  of  the  Cross  and  thorny  crown  ? 
Up  from  your  beds  of  sloth  for  shame, 
Speed  to  the  eastern  mount  like  flame, 
Nor  wonder,  should  ye  find  your  King  in  tears, 
Even  with  the  loud  Hosanna  ringing  in  His  ears. 

Alas  !  no  need  to  rouse  them  :  long  ago 
They  are  gone  forth  to  swell  Messiah's  show : 
With  glittering  robes  and  garlands  sweet 
They  strew  the  ground  beneath  His  feet: 
All  but  your  hearts  are  there — 0  dooni'd  to  prove 
The  arrows  wing'd  in  Heaven  for  Faith  that  will  not 
love ! 

(19) 


20  ADVENT  SUNDAY. 


Meanwhile  He  paces  through  th'  adoring  crowd, 
Calm  as  the  march  of  some  majestic  cloud, 
That  o'er  wild  scenes  of  ocean-war 
Holds  its  still  course  in  Heaven  afar : 
Even  so,  heart-searching  Lord,  as  years  roll  on, 
Thou  keepst  silent  watch  from  Thy  triumphal  throne : 

Even  so,  the  world  is  thronging  round  to  gaze 
On  the  dread  vision  of  the  latter  days, 

Constrain'd  to  own  Thee,  but  in  heart 

Prepar'd  to  take  Barabbas'  part : 
"  Hosanna"  now,  to-morrow  "  Crucify," 
The  changeful  burden  still  of  their  rude  lawless  cry. 

Yet  in  that  throng  of  selfish  hearts  untrue 
Thy  sad  eye  rests  upon  Thy  faithful  few, 

Children  and  childlike  souls  are  there, 

Blind  Bartimeus'  humble  prayer, 
And  Lazarus  waken'd  from  his  four  days'  sleep, 
Enduring  life  again,  that  Passover  to  keep. 

And  fast  beside  the  olive-border'd  way 

Stands  the  bless'd  home,  where  Jesus  deign'd  to  stay, 
The  peaceful  home,  to  Zeal  sincere 
And  heavenly  Contemplation  dear, 

Where  Martha  lov'd  to  wait  with  reverence  meet, 

And  wiser  Mary  linger'd  at  Thy  sacred  feet. 


ADVENT  SUNDAY.  21 


Still  through  decaying  ages  as  they  glide, 
Thou  lov'st  Thy  chosen  remnant  to  divide; 
Sprinkled  along  the  waste  of  years 
Full  many  a  spft  green  isle  appears : 
Pause  where  we  may  upon  the  desert  road, 
Some  shelter  is  in  sight,  some  sacred  safe  abode. 

When  withering  blasts  of  error  swept  the  sky,c 
And  Love's  last  flower  seem'd  fain  to  droop  and  die, 

How  sweet,  how  lone  the  ray  benign 

On  shelter'd  nooks  of  Palestine ! 
Then  to  his  early  home  did  Love  repair/ 
And  cheer'd  his  sickening  heart  with  his  own  native 
air. 

Years  roll  away :  again  the  tide  of  crime 

Has  swept  Thy  footsteps  from  the  favour'd  clime. 

Where  shall  the  holy  Cross  find  rest? 

On  a  crown'd  monarch's6  mailed  breast : 
Like  some  bright  angel  o'er  the  darkling  scene, 
Through  court  and  camp  he  holds  his  heavenward 
course  serene. 

A  fouler  vision  yet ;  an  age  of  light, 

Light  without  love,  glares  on  the  aching  sight : 

c  Arianism  in  the  fourth  century. 

d  See  St.  Jerome's  Works,  i.  123,  edit.  Erasm. 

e  St.  Louis  in  the  thirteenth  century. 


22  ADVENT  SUNDAY. 


0  who  can  tell  how  calm  and  sweet, 
Meek  Walton  !  shows  thy  green  retreat, 
When  wearied  with  the  tale  thy  times  disclose, 
The  eye  first  finds  thee  out  in  thy  secure  repose  ? 

Thus  bad  and  good  their  several  warnings  give 
Of  His  approach,  whom  none  may  see  and  live : 
Faith's  ear,  with  awful  still  delight, 
Counts  them  like  minute  bells  at  night, 
Keeping  the  heart  awake  till  dawn  of  morn, 
While  to  her  funeral  pile  this  aged  world  is  borne. 

But  what  are  Heaven's  alarms  to  hearts  that  cower 
In  wilful  slumber,  deepening  every  hour, 
That  draw  their  curtains  closer  round, 
The  nearer  swells  the  trumpet's  sound  ? 
Lord,  ere  our  trembling  lamps  sink  down  and  die, 
Touch  us  with  chastening  hand,  and  make  us  feel 
Thee  nigh. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT. 


And  when  these  things  begin  to  come  to  pass,  then  look  up,  and  lift  up  your 
heads;  for  your  redemption  draweth  nigh.     St.  Luke  xxi.  28. 


Not  till  the  freezing  blast  is  still, 

Till  freely  leaps  the  sparkling  rill, 

And  gales  sweep  soft  from  summer  skies, 

As  o'er  a  sleeping  infant's  eyes 

A  mother's  kiss ;  ere  calls  like  these, 

No  sunny  gleam  awakes  the  trees, 

Nor  dare  the  tender  flowerets  show 

Their  bosoms  to  th'  uncertain  glow. 

"Why  then,  in  sad  and  wintry  time, 

Her  heavens  all  dark  with  doubt  and  crime, 

Why  lifts  the  Church  her  drooping  head, 

As  though  her  evil  hour  were  fled  ? 

Is  she  less  wise  than  leaves  of  spring, 

Or  birds  that  cower  with  folded  wing  ? 

What  sees  she  in  this  lowering  sky 

To  tempt  her  meditative  eye  ? 

(23) 


She  has  a  charm,  a  word  of  fire, 
A  pledge  of  love  that  cannot  tire  ; 
By  tempests,  earthquakes,  and  by  wars, 
By  rushing  waves  and  falling  stars, 
By  every  sign  her  Lord  foretold, 
She  sees  the  world  is  waxing  old,f 
And  through  that  last  and  direst  storm 
Descries  by  faith  her  Saviour's  form. 

Not  surer  does  each  tender  gem, 
Set  in  the  fig-tree's  polish 'd  stem, 
Foreshew  the  summer  season  bland, 
Than  these  dread  signs  Thy  mighty  hand : 
But  oh  ?  frail  hearts,  and  spirits  dark  ! 
The  season's  flight  unwarn'd  we  mark 
But  miss  the  Judge  behind  the  door,g 
Fore  all  the  light  of  sacred  lore  : 

Yet  is  He  there  :  beneath  our  eaves 
Each  sound  His  wakeful  ear  receives : 
Hush,  idle  words,  and  thoughts  of  ill, 
Your  lord  is  listening:  peace,  be  still.'1 

f  The  world  hath  lost  his  youth,  and  the  times  begin  to  wax  old.  2  Esdras 
xiv.  10. 

s  See  St.  James  v.  9. 

h  Ita  fabulantur,  ut  qui  sciant  Dominum  audire.  Tertull.  Apolog.,  p.  36, 
edit.  Kigalt. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT.  25 


Christ  watches  by  a  Christian's  hearth, 
Be  silent,  "  vain  deluding  mirth," 
Till  in  thine  alter'd  voice  be  known 
Somewhat  of  Resignation's  tone. 

But  chiefly  ye  should  lift  your  gaze 
Above  the  world's  uncertain  haze, 
And  look  with  calm  unwavering  eye 
On  the  bright  fields  beyond  the  sky, 
Ye,  who  your  Lord's  commission  bear, 
His  way  of  mercy  to  prepare  : 
Angels  He  calls  ye  :  be  your  strife 
To  lead  on  earth  an  Angel's  life. 

Think  not  of  rest ;  though  dreams  be  sweet, 

Start  up,  and  ply  your  heavenward  feet. 

Is  not  God's  oath  upon  your  head, 

Ne'er  to  sink  back  on  slothful  bed, 

Never  again  your  loins  untie, 

Nor  let  your  torches  waste  and  die, 

Till,  when  the  shadows  thickest  fall, 

Ye  hear  your  Master's  midnight  call  ? 


THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT. 

What  went  ye  out  into  the  wilderness  to  see?  a  reed  shaken  with  the  wind? 
.  .  .  But  what  went  ye  out  for  to  see  ?  a  prophet  ?  yea,  I  say  unto  you,  and 
more  than  a  prophet.     St.  Matthew,  xi.  7,  9. 

What  went  ye  out  to  see 

O'er  the  rude  sandy  lea, 
Where  stately  Jordan  flows  by  many  a  palm, 

Or  where  Gennesaret's  wave 

Delights  the  flowers  to  lave, 
That  o'er  her  western  slope  breathe  airs  of  balm  ? 

All  through  the  summer  night, 

Those  blossoms  red  and  bright' 
Spread  their  soft  breasts,  unheeding,  to  the  breeze. 

Like  hermits  watching  still 

Around  the  sacred  hill, 
Where  erst  our  Saviour  watch'd  upon  His  knees. 

1  Rhododendrons :  with  which  the  western  bank  of  the  lake  is  said  to  be 
clothed  down  to  the  water's  edge. 

(26) 


The  Paschal  moon  above 

Seems  like  a  saint  to  rove, 
Left  shining  in  the  world  with  Christ  alone ; 

Below,  the  lake's  still  face 

Sleeps  sweetly  in  th'  embrace 
Of  mountains  terrass'd  high  with  mossy  stone. 

Here  may  we  sit,  and  dream 

Over  the  heavenly  theme, 
Till  to  our  soul  the  former  days  return ; 

Till  on  the  grassy  bed, 

Where  thousands  once  He  fed, 
The  world's  incarnate  Maker  we  discern. 

0  cross  no  more  the  main, 

Wandering  so  wild  and  vain, 
To  count  the  reeds  that  tremble  in  the  wind, 

On  listless  dalliance  bound, 

Like  children  gazing  round, 
Who  on  God's  works  no  seal  of  Godhead  find : 

Bask  not  in  courtly  bower, 

Or  sun-bright  hall  of  power, 
Pass  Babel  quick,  and  seek  the  holy  land — 

From  robes  of  Tyrian  dye 

Turn  with  undazzled  eye 
To  Bethlehem's  glade,  or  Carmel's  haunted  strand. 


28  THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT. 


Or  choose  thee  out  a  cell 

In  Kedron's  stoned  dell, 
Beside  the  springs  of  Love,  that  never  die ; 

Among  the  olives  kneel 

The  chill  night  blast  to  feel, 
And  watch  the  Moon  that  saw  thy  Master's  agony. 

Then  rise  at  dawn  of  day, 

And  wind  thy  thoughtful  way, 
Where  rested  once  the  Temple's  stately  shade, 

With  due  feet  tracing  round 

The  city's  northern  bound, 
To  th'  other  holy  garden,  where  the  Lord  was  laid. 

Who  thus  alternate  see 

His  death  and  victory, 
Rising  and  falling  as  on  angel  wings, 

They,  while  they  seem  to  roam, 

Draw  daily  nearer  home, 
Their  heart  untravell'd  still  adores  the  King  of  kings. 

Or,  if  at  home  they  stay, 

Yet  are  they,  day  by  day, 
In  spirit  journeying  through  the  glorious  land, 

Not  for  light  Fancy's  reed, 

Nor  Honour's  purple  meed, 
Nor  gifted  Prophet's  lore,  nor  Science'  wondrous 
wand. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT.  29 

But  more  than  Prophet,  more 

Than  Angels  can  adore 
With  face  unveil'd,  is  He  they  go  to  seek : 

Blessed  be  God,  Whose  grace 

Shews  Him  in  every  place 
To  homeliest  hearts  of  pilgrims  pure  and  meek. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT. 


The  eyes  of  them  that  see  shall  not  be  dim,  and  the  ears  of  them  that  hear 
shall  hearken.     Isaiah  xxxii.  3. 


Of  the  bright  things  in  earth  and  air 
How  little  can  the  heart  embrace ! 

Soft  shades  and  gleaming  lights  are  there — 
I  know  it  well,  but  cannot  trace. 

Mine  eye  unworthy  seems  to  read 

One  page  of  Nature's  beauteous  book ; 

It  lies  before  me,  fair  outspread — 
I  only  cast  a  wishful  look. 

I  cannot  paint  to  Memory's  eye 

The  scene,  the  glance,  I  dearest  love — 

Unchang'd  themselves,  in  me  they  die, 
Or  faint,  or  false,  their  shadows  prove. 

In  vain,  with  dull  and  tuneless  ear, 

I  linger  by  soft  Music's  cell, 
And  in  my  heart  of  hearts  would  hear 

What  to  her  own  she  deigns  to  tell. 

(30) 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT.  31 

'Tis  misty  all,  both  sight  and  sound — 

I  only  know  'tis  fair  and  sweet — 
'Tis  wandering  on  enchanted  ground 

With  dizzy  brow  and  tottering  feet. 

But  patience  !  there  may  come  a  time 
When  these  dull  ears  shall  scan  aright 

Strains,  that  outring  Earth's  drowsy  chime, 
As  Heaven  outshines  the  taper's  light. 

These  eyes,  that  dazzled  now  and  weak, 
At  glancing  motes  in  sunshine  wink, 

Shall  see  the  King's'  full  glory  break, 
Nor  from  the  blissful  vision  shrink : 

In  fearless  love  and  hope  uncloy'd 

For  ever  on  that  ocean  bright 
Empower'd  to  gaze ;  and  undestroy'd, 

Deeper  and  deeper  plunge  in  light. 

Though  scarcely  now  their  laggard  glance 
Reach  to  an  arrow's  flight,  that  day 

They  shall  behold,  and  not  in  trance, 
The  region  "  very  far  away." 


i  Thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King  in  His  beauty;  they  shall  behold  the  land 
that  is  very  far  off.     Isaiah  xxxiii.  17. 


32  FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT. 

If  Memory  sometimes  at  our  spell 
Refuse  to  speak,  or  speak  amiss, 

We  shall  not  need  her  where  we  dwell 
Ever  in  sight  of  all  our  bliss. 

Meanwhile,  if  over  sea  or  sky 

Some  tender  lights  unnotic'd  fleet, 

Or  on  lov'd  features  dawn  and  die, 
Unread,  to  us,  their  lesson  sweet; 

Yet  are  there  saddening  sights  around, 
"Which  Heaven,  in  mercy,  spares  us  too, 

And  we  see  far  in  holy  ground, 
If  duly  purg'd  our  mental  view. 

The  distant  landscape  draws  not  nigh 
For  all  our  gazing  ;  but  the  soul, 

That  upward  looks,  may  still  descry 
Nearer,  each  day,  the  brightening  goal. 

And  thou,  too  curious  ear,  that  fain 
Wouldst  thread  the  maze  of  Harmony, 

Content  thee  with  one  simple  strain, 
The  lowlier,  sure,  the  worthier  thee ; 

Till  thou  art  duly  trained,  and  taught 
The  concord  sweet  of  Love  divine  : 

Then,  with  that  inward  Music  fraught, 
For  ever  rise,  and  sing,  and  shine. 


'  t 

n,i  on  I  h  '■  -■ 


CHRISTMAS   DAY. 


And  suddenly  there  was  with  the  Angel  a  multitude  of  the  heavenly  host 
praising  God.     St.  Luke  ii.  13. 


WnAT  sudden  blaze  of  song 

Spreads  o'er  th'  expanse  of  Heav'n  ? 
In  waves  of  light  it  thrills  along, 

Th'  angelic  signal  given — 
"  Glory  to  God !"  from  yonder  central  fire 
Flows  out  the  echoing  lay  beyond  the  starry  quire ; 

Like  circles  widening  round 
Upon  a  clear  blue  river, 
Orb  after  orb,  the  wondrous  sound 

Is  echoed  on  for  ever : 
"  Glory  to  God  on  high,  on  earth  be  peace, 
"  And  love  towards  men  of  lovek — salvation  and  re- 
lease." 


k  I  have  ventured  to  adopt  the  reading  of  the  Vulgate,  as  heing  generally 
known  through  Pergolesi's  beautiful  composition,  "  Gloria  in  excelsis  Deo,  et 
in  terra  pas  hominibus  bonce  voluntatis." 

(33) 


34  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


Yet  stay,  before  thou  dare 
To  join  that  festal  throng ; 
Listen  and  mark  what  gentle  air 

First  stirr'd  the  tide  of  song ; 
'Tis  not,  "  the  Saviour  born  in  David's  home, 
To  whom  for  power  and  health  obedient  worlds 
should  come  :" — 

'Tis  not,  "  the  Christ  the  Lord  :"— 
With  fix'd  adoring  look 
The  choir  of  Angels  caught  the  word, 

Nor  yet  their  silence  broke  : 
But  when  they  heard  the  sign,  where  Christ 
should  be, 
In  sudden  light  they  shone  and  heavenly  harmony. 

Wrapp'd  in  His  swaddling  bands, 
And  in  His  manger  laid, 
The  Hope  and  Glory  of  all  lands 

Is  come  to  the  world's  aid : 
No  peaceful  home  upon  His  cradle  smil'd, 
Guests  rudely  went  and  came,  where  slept  the  royal 
Child. 

But  where  Thou  dwellest,  Lord, 
No  other  thought  should  be, 
Once  duly  welcom'd  and  ador'd, 

How  should  I  part  with  Thee? 


CHRISTMAS  DAY.  35 


Bethlehem  must  lose  Thee  soon,  but  Thou  wilt 
grace 
The  single  heart  to  be  Thy  sure  abiding-place. 

Thee,  on  the  bosom  laid 
Of  a  pure  virgin  mind, 
In  quiet  ever,  and  in  shade, 

Shepherd  and  sage  may  find ; 
They,  who  have  bow'd  untaught  to  Nature's  sway, 
And  they,  who  follow  Truth  along  her  star-pav'd 
way. 

The  pastoral  spirits  first 

Approach  Thee,  Babe  divine, 
For  they  in  lowly  thoughts  are  nurs'd, 
Meet  for  Thy  lowly  shrine : 
Sooner  than  they  should  miss  where  Thou  dost 
dwell, 
Angels  from  Heaven  will  stoop  to  guide  them  to 
Thy  cell. 

Still,  as  the  day  comes  round 
For  Thee  to  be  reveal'd, 
By  wakeful  shepherds  Thou  art  found, 
Abiding  in  the  field. 
All  through  the  wrintry  heaven  and  chill  night  air, 
In  music  and  in  light  Thou  dawnest  on  their  prayer. 


36  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


0  faint  not  ye  for  fear — 

What  though  your  wandering  sheep, 
Keckless  of  what  they  see  and  hear, 
Lie  lost  in  wilful  sleep? 
High  Heaven  in  mercy  to  your  sad  annoy 
Still  greets  you  with  glad  tidings  of  immortal  joy. 

Think  on  th'  eternal  home, 
The  Saviour  left  for  you ; 
Think  on  the  Lord  most  holy,  come 
To  dwell  with  hearts  untrue  : 
So  shall  ye  tread  untir'd  His  pastoral  ways, 
And  in  the  darkness  sing  your  carol  of  high  praise. 


ST.    STEPHEN'S   DAY. 


He,  being  full  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  looked  up  stedfastly  into  heaven,  and  saw 
the  glory  of  God,  and  Jesus  standing  on  the  right  hand  of  God. 

Acts  vii.  55. 


As  rays  around  the  source  of  light 
Stream  upward  ere  he  glow  in  sight, 
And  watching  by  his  future  flight 

Set  the  clear  heavens  on  fire ; 
So  on  the  King  of  Martyrs  wait 
Three  chosen  bands,  in  royal  state,1 
And  all  earth  owns,  of  good  and  great, 

Is  gather'd  in  that  choir. 

1  Wheatly  on  the  Common  Prayer,  c.  v.  sect.  iv.  2.  "As  there  are  three 
kinds  of  martyrdom,  the  first  both  in  will  and  deed,  which  is  the  highest;  the 
second  in  will  but  not  in  deed  ;  the  third  in  deed  but  not  in  will ;  so  the  Church 
commemorates  these  martyrs  in  the  same  order:  St.  Stephen  first,  who  suffered 
death  both  in  will  and  deed ;  St.  John  the  Evangelist  next,  who  suffered  mar- 
tyrdom in  will  but  not  in  deed;  the  holy  Innocents  last,  who  suffered  in  deed 
but  not  in  will." 

4  (37) 


38  ST.  STEPHEN'S  DAY. 


One  presses  on,  and  welcomes  death  : 
One  calmly  yields  his  willing  breath, 
Nor  slow,  nor  hurrying,  but  in  faith 

Content  to  die  or  live  : 
And  some,  the  darlings  of  their  Lord, 
Play  smiling  with  the  flame  and  sword, 
And,  ere  they  speak,  to  His  sure  word 

Unconscious  witness  give. 

Foremost  and  nearest  to  His  throne, 
By  perfect  robes  of  triumph  known, 
And  likest  Him  in  look  and  tone, 

The  holy  Stephen  kneels, 
With  stedfast  gaze,  as  when  the  sky 
Flew  open  to  his  fainting  eye, 
Which,  like  a  fading  lamp,  flashed  high, 

Seeing  what  death  conceals. 

Well  might  you  guess  what  vision  bright 
Was  present  to  his  raptur'd  sight, 
Even  as  reflected  streams  of  light 

Their  solar  source  betray — 
The  glory  which  our  God  surrounds, 
The  Son  of  Man,  th'  atoning  wounds — 
He  sees  them  all ;  and  earth's  dull  bounds 

Are  melting  fast  away. 


ST.  STEPHEN'S  DAY. 


39 


He  sees  them  all — no  other  view 
Could  stamp  the  Saviour's  likeness  true, 
Or  with  his  love  so  deep  embrue 

Man's  sullen  heart  and  gross — 
"  Jesu,  do  Thou  my  soul  receive  : 
"  Jesu,  do  Thou  my  foes  forgive  :" 
He  who  would  learn  that  prayer,  must  live 

Under  the  holy  Cross. 

He,  though  he  seem  on  earth  to  move, 
Must  glide  in  air  like  gentle  dove, 
From  yon  unclouded  depths  above 

Must  draw  his  purer  breath ; 
Till  men  behold  his  angel  face 
All  radiant  with  celestial  grace,™ 
Martyr  all  o'er,  and  meet  to  trace 

The  lines  of  Jesus'  death. 


m  And  all  that  sat  in  the  council,  looking  steadfastly  on  hiin,  saw  his  face 
as  it  had  been  the  face  of  an  angel.     Acts  vi.  15. 


ST.   JOHN'S  DAY. 


Peter  seeing  him  saith  to  Jesus,  Lord,  and  what  shall  this  man  do?  Jesus 
saith  unto  him,  If  I  will  that  he  tarry  till  I  come,  what  is  that  to  thee  ?  follow 
thou  Me.  St.  John  xxi.  21,  22. 


"  Lord,  and  what  shall  this  man  do  ?" 

Ask'st  thou,  Christian,  for  thy  friend  ? 

If  his  love  for  Christ  be  true, 

Christ  hath  told  thee  of  his  end  : 

This  is  he  whom  God  approves, 

This  is  he  whom  Jesus  loves. 

Ask  not  of  him  more  than  this, 

Leave  it  in  his  Saviour's  breast 

Whether,  early  call'd  to  bliss, 

He  in  youth  shall  find  his  rest, 

Or  armed  in  his  station  wait 

Till  his  Lord  be  at  the  gate : 


Whether  in  his  lonely  course 
(Lonely,  not  forlorn)  he  stay, 


(40) 


ST.  JOHN'S  DAY.  41 


Or  with  Love's  supporting  force 

Cheat  the  toil  and  cheer  the  way : 
Leave  it  all  in  His  high  hand, 
Who  doth  hearts  as  streams  command." 

Gales  from  Heaven,  if  so  He  will, 
Sweeter  melodies  can  wake 

On  the  lonely  mountain  rill 

Than  the  meeting  waters  make. 

Who  hath  the  Father  and  the  Son, 

May  be  left,  but  not  alone. 

Sick  or  healthful,  slave  or  free, 

Wealthy,  or  despis'd  and  poor — 

What  is  that  to  him  or  thee, 

So  his  love  to  Christ  endure? 

When  the  shore  is  won  at  last, 

Who  will  count  the  billows  past  ? 

Only,  since  our  souls  will  shrink 
At  the  touch  of  natural  grief, 

When  our  earthly  lov'd  ones  sink, 
Lend  us,  Lord,  Thy  sure  relief; 

Patient  hearts,  their  pain  to  see 

And  Thy  grace,  to  follow  Thee. 


n  The  king's  heart  is  in  the  hand  of  the  Lord,  as  the  rivers  of  water:  He 
turneth  it  whithersoever  He  will.     Proverbs  xxi.  1. 
4* 


THE  HOLY  INNOCENTS. 


These  were  redeemed  from  among  men,  being  the  first-fruits  unto  God  and 
to  the  Lamb.     Rev.  xiv.  4. 


Say,  ye  celestial  guards,  who  wait 
In  Bethlehem,  round  the  Saviour's  palace  gate, 

Say,  who  are  these  on  golden  wings, 
That  hover  o'er  the  new-born  King  of  kings, 

Their  palms  and  garlands  telling  plain, 
That  they  are  of  the  glorious  martyr  train, 

Next  to  yourselves  ordain'd  to  praise 
His  name,  and  brighten  as  on  Him  they  gaze  ? 

But  where  their  spoils  and  trophies  ?  where 
The  glorious  dint  a  martyr's  shield  should  bear  ? 

How  chance  no  cheek  among  them  wears 
The  deep-worn  trace  of  penitential  tears, 

But  all  is  bright  and  smiling  love, 
As  if,  fresh-borne  from  Eden's  happy  grove, 

They  had  flown  here,  their  King  to  see, 
Nor  ever  had  been  heirs  of  dark  mortality? 

(42) 


THE  HOLY  INNOCENTS.  43 

Ask,  and  some  angel  will  reply, 
"  These,  like  yourselves,  were  born  to  sin  and  die, 

"  But  ere  the  poison  root  was  grown, 
"  God  set  His  seal,  and  mark'd  them  for  his  own. 

"  Baptiz'd  in  blood  for  Jesus'  sake, 
"  Now  underneath  the  Cross  their  bed  they  make, 

"Not  to  be  scar'd  from  that  sure  rest 
"  By  frighten'd  mother's  shriek,  or  warrior's  waving 
crest." 

Mindful  of  these,  the  first-fruits  sweet 
Borne  by  the  suffering  Church  her  Lord  to  greet; 

Bless'd  Jesus  ever  lov'd  to  trace 
The  "  innocent  brightness"  of  an  infant's  face. 

He  rais'd  them  in  His  holy  arms, 
He  bless'd  them  from  the  world  and  all  its  harms : 

Heirs  though  they  were  of  sin  and  shame, 
He  bless'd  them  in  His  own  and  in  his  Father's  name. 

Then,  as  each  fond  unconscious  child 
On  th'  everlasting  Parent  sweetly  smil'd, 

(Like  infants  sporting  on  the  shore, 
That  tremble  not  at  Ocean's  boundless  roar,) 

Were  they  not  present  to  Thy  thought, 
All  souls,  that  in  their  cradles  Thou  hast  bought  ? 

But  chiefly  these,  who  died  for  Thee, 
That  Thou  might'st  live  for  them  a  sadder  death  to 
see. 


44:  THE  HOLY  INNOCENTS. 

And  next  to  these,  Thy  gracious  word 
Was  as  a  pledge  of  benediction,  stor'd 

For  Christian  mothers,  while  they  moan 
Their  treasur'd  hopes,  just  born,  baptiz'd,  and  gone. 

Oh,  joy  for  Rachel's  broken  heart ! 
She  and  her  babes  shall  meet  no  more  to  part ; 

So  dear  to  Christ  her  pious  haste 
To  trust  them  in  His  arms,  for  ever  safe  embrac'd. 

She  dares  not  grudge  to  leave  them  there, 
Where  to  behold  them  was  her  heart's  first  prayer, 

She  dares  not  grieve — but  she  must  weep, 
As  her  pale  placid  martyr  sinks  to  sleep, 

Teaching  so  well  and  silently 
How,  at  the  shepherd's  call,  the  lamb  should  die : 

How  happier  far  than  life  the  end 
Of  souls  that  infant-like  beneath  their  burthen  bend. 


.       '  !  .:  L 

rlxe  v.  Lh 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  CHRISTMAS. 


So  the  sun  returned  ten  degrees,  by  which  degrees  it  was  gone  down. 
Isaiah  xxxviii.  8.     Compare  Josh.  x.  13. 


'Tis  true,  of  old  th'  unchanging  sun 
His  daily  course  refus'd  to  run, 

The  pale  moon  hurrying  to  the  west 
Paus'd  at  a  mortal's  call,  to  aid 
Th'  avenging  storm  of  war,  that  laid 
Seven  guilty  realms  at  once  on  earth's  defiled  breast. 

But  can  it  be,  one  suppliant  tear 
Should  stay  the  ever-moving  sphere  ? 

A  sick  man's  lowly  breathed  sigh, 
"When  from  the  world  he  turns  away,° 
And  hides  his  weary  eyes  to  pray, 
Should  change  your  mystic  dance,  ye  wanderers  of 

the  sky  ? 

We  too,  0  Lord,  would  fain  command, 
As  then,  Thy  wonder-working  hand, 

o  Then  Hezekiah  turned  his  face  toward  the  wall,  and  prayed  unto  the 
Lord.     Isaiah  xxxviii.  2. 

(45) 


46  FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  CHRISTMAS. 

And  backward  force  the  waves  of  Time, 
That  now  so  swift  and  silent  bear 
Our  restless  bark  from  year  to  year ; 
Help  us  to  pause  and  mourn  to  Thee  our  tale  of 

crime. 

Bright  hopes,  that  erst  the  bosom  warm'd, 
And  vows,  too  pure  to  be  perform'd, 

And  prayers  blown  wide  by  gales  of  care ; — 
These,  and  such  faint  half-waking  dreams, 
Like  stormy  lights  on  mountain  streams, 
Wavering  and  broken  all,  athwart  the  conscience 

glare. 

How  shall  we  'scape  th'  o'erwhelming  Past  ? 
Can  spirits  broken,  joys  o'ercast, 

And  eyes  that  never  more  may  smile : — 
Can  these  th'  avenging  bolt  delay, 
Or  win  us  back  one  little  day 
The  bitterness  of  death  to  soften  and  beguile  ? 


'O 


Father  and  Lover  of  our  souls  ! 
Though  darkly  round  Thine  anger  rolls, 

Thy  sunshine  smiles  beneath  the  gloom, 
Thou  seek'st  to  warn  us,  not  confound, 
Thy  showers  would  pierce  the  harden'd  ground, 
And  win  it  to  give  out  its  brightness  and  perfume. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  CHRISTMAS.  47 

Thou  smil'st  on  us  in  wrath,  and  we, 
Even  in  remorse,  would  smile  on  Thee ; 

The  tears  that  bathe  our  offer'd  hearts, 
We  would  not  have  them  stain'd  and  dim, 
But  dropp'd  from  wings  of  seraphim, 
All  glowing  with  the  light  accepted  Love  imparts. 

Time's  waters  will  not  ebb,  nor  stay, 
Power  cannot  change  them,  but  Love  may; 

What  cannot  be,  Love  counts  it  done 
Deep  in  the  heart,  her  searching  view 
Can  read  where  Faith  is  fix'd  and  true, 
Through  shades  of  setting  life  can  see  Heaven's 

work  begun. 

0  Thou,  who  keep'st  the  Key  of  Love, 
Open  Thy  fount,  eternal  Dove, 

And  overflow  this  heart  of  mine, 
Enlarging  as  it  fills  with  Thee, 
Till  in  one  blaze  of  charity 
Care  and  remorse  are  lost,  like  motes  in  light  divine  ; 

Till  as  each  moment  wafts  us  higher, 
By  every  gush  of  pure  desire, 

And  high-breath'd  hope  of  joys  above, 
By  every  sacred  sigh  we  heave, 
Whole  years  of  folly  we  outlive, 
In  His  unerring  sight,  who  measures  Life  by  Love. 


THE  CIRCUMCISION  OF  CHRIST. 


In  whom  also  ye  are  circumcised  with  the  circumcision  made  without  hands. 

C0I08B.  ii.  11. 


The  year  begins  with  Thee, 
And  Thou  beginn'st  with  woe, 
To  let  the  world  of  sinners  see 
That  blood  for  sin  must  flow. 


Thine  infant  cries,  0  Lord, 
Thy  tears  upon  the  breast, 
Are  not  enough — the  legal  sword 
Must  do  its  stern  behest. 


Like  sacrificial  wine 
Pour'd  on  a  victim's  head 
Are  those  few  precious  drops  of  Thine, 
Now  first  to  offering  led. 

They  are  the  pledge  and  seal 
Of  Christ's  unswerving  faith 
Given  to  His  Sire,  our  souls  to  heal, 


Although  it  cost  His  death. 


(48) 


THE  CIRCUMCISION  OF  CHRIST.  49 

They  to  His  Church  of  old, 
To  each  true  Jewish  heart, 
In  Gospel  graces  manifold 
Communion  blest  impart. 

Now  of  Thy  love  we  deem 
As  of  an  ocean  vast, 
Mounting  in  tides  against  the  stream 
Of  ages  gone  and  past. 

Both  theirs  and  ours  Thou  art, 
As  we  and  they  are  Thine ; 
Kings,  Prophets,  Patriarchs — all  have  part 
Along  the  sacred  line. 

By  blood  and  water  too 
God's  mark  is  set  on  Thee, 
That  in  Thee  every  faithful  view 
Both  covenants  might  see. 

0  bond  of  union,  dear 
And  strong  as  is  Thy  grace ! 
Saints,  parted  by  a  thousand  year, 
May  thus  in  heart  embrace. 

Is  there  a  mourner  true, 
Who  fallen  on  faithless  days, 
Sighs  for  the  heart-consoling  view 
Of  those,  Heaven  deign'd  to  praise  ? 


50  THE  CIRCUMCISION  OF  CHRIST. 

In  spirit  mayst  thou  meet 
With  faithful  Abraham  here, 
Whom  soon  in  Eden  thou  shalt  greet 
A  nursing  Father  dear. 

Wouldst  thou  a  poet  be? 
And  would  thy  dull  heart  fain 
Borrow  of  Israel's  minstrelsy 
One  high  enraptur'd  strain  ? 

Come  here  thy  soul  to  tune, 
Here  set  thy  feeble  chant, 
Here,  if  at  all  beneath  the  moon, 
Is  holy  David's  haunt. 

Art  thou  a  child  of  tears, 
Cradled  in  care  and  woe  ? 
And  seems  it  hard,  thy  vernal  years 
Few  vernal  joys  can  show  ? 

And  fall  the  sounds  of  mirth 
Sad  on  thy  lonely  heart, 
From  all  the  hopes  and  charms  of  earth 
Untimely  call'd  to  part  ? 

Look  here,  and  hold  thy  peace : 
The  Giver  of  all  good 
Even  from  the  womb  takes  no  release 
From  suffering,  tears,  and  blood. 


THE  CIRCUMCISION  OF  CHRIST.  51 


If  thou  wouldst  reap  in  love, 
First  sow  in  holy  fear : 
So  life  a  winter's  morn  may  prove 
To  a  bright  endless  year. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  CHRISTMAS. 


When  the  poor  and  needy  seek  water,  and  there  is  none,  and  their  tongue 
faileth  for  thirst,  I  the  Lord  will  hear  them,  I  the  God  of  Israel  will  not  for- 
sake them.     Isaiah  xli.  17. 


And  wilt  Thou  hear  the  fever'd  heart 

To  Thee  in  silence  cry  ? 
And  as  th'  inconstant  wildfires  dart 

Out  of  the  restless  eye, 
Wilt  Thou  forgive  the  wayward  thought, 
By  kindly  woes  yet  half  untaught 
A  Saviour's  right,  so  dearly  bought, 

That  Hope  should  never  die  ? 

Thou  wilt :  for  many  a  languid  prayer 

Has  reach'd  Thee  from  the  wild, 
Since  the  lorn  mother,  wandering  there, 

Cast  down  her  fainting  child,p 
Then  stole  apart  to  weep  and  die, 
Nor  knew  an  Angel  form  was  nigh, 
To  shew  soft  waters  gushing  by 
And  dewy  shadows  mild. 


p  Hagar.     See  Genesis  xxi.  15. 


(52) 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  CHRISTMAS.  53 


Thou  wilt — for  Thou  art  Israel's  God, 

And  Thine  unwearied  arm. 
Is  ready  yet  with  Moses'  rod, 

The  hidden  rill  to  charm 
Out  of  the  dry  unfathom'd  deep 
Of  sands,  that  lie  in  lifeless  sleep, 
Save  when  the  scorching  whirlwinds  heap 

Their  waves  in  rude  alarm. 

These  moments  of  wild  wrath  are  Thine — 

Thine  too  the  drearier  hour 
When  o'er  th'  horizon's  silent  line 
■  Fond  hopeless  fancies  cower, 
And  on  the  traveller's  listless  way 
Rises  and  sets  th'  unchanging  day, 
No  cloud  in  heaven  to  slake  its  ray, 
On  earth  no  sheltering  bower. 

Thou  wilt  be  there,  and  not  forsake, 

To  turn  the  bitter  pool 
Into  a  bright  and  breezy  lake, 

The  throbbing  brow  to  cool : 
Till  left  awhile  with  Thee  alone 
The  wilful  heart  be  fain  to  own 
That  He,  by  whom  our  bright  hours  shone, 
Our  darkness  best  may  rule. 

5* 


54  SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  CHRISTMAS. 

The  scent  of  water  far  away 

Upon  the  breeze  is  flung : 
The  desert  pelican  to-day 

Securely  leaves  her  young, 
Reproving  thankless  man,  who  fears 
To  journey  on  a  few  lone  years, 
Where  on  the  sand  Thy  step  appears, 

Thy  crown  in  sight  is  hung. 

Thou,  who  didst  sit  on  Jacob's  well 

The  weary  hour  of  noon,q 
The  languid  pulses  Thou  canst  tell 

The  nerveless  spirit  tune. 
Thou  from  Whose  cross  in  anguish  burst 
The  cry  that  own'd  Thy  dying  thirst,1' 
To  Thee  we  turn,  our  Last  and  First, 

Our  Sun  and  soothing  Moon. 

From  darkness,  here,  and  dreariness 

We  ask  not  full  repose, 
Only  be  Thou  at  hand,  to  bless 

Our  trial  hour  of  woes. 
Is  not  the  pilgrim's  toil  o'erpaid 
By  the  clear  rill  and  palmy  shade  ? 
And  see  we  not,  up  Earth's  dark  glade, 

The  gate  of  Heaven  unclose  ? 

q  St.  John  iv.  6.  r  St.  John  xis.  28. 


THE   EPIPHANY. 


And,  lo,  tho  star,  which  they  saw  in  the  east,  went  before  them,  till  it  came 
and  stood  over  where  the  young  Child  was.  When  they  saw  the  star,  they 
rejoiced  with  exceeding  great  joy.     St.  Matt.  ii.  9,  10. 


Star  of  the  East,  how  sweet  art  Thou, 
Seen  in  life's  early  morning  sky, 

Ere  yet  a  cloud  has  dimm'd  the  brow, 
While  yet  we  gaze  with  childish  eye ; 

When  father,  mother,  nursing  friend, 
Most  dearly  lov'd,  and  loving  best, 

First  bid  us  from  their  arms  ascend, 
Pointing  to  Thee  in  Thy  sure  rest. 

Too  soon  the  glare  of  earthly  day 
Buries,  to  us,  Thy  brightness  keen, 

And  we  are  left  to  find  our  way 
By  faith  and  hope  in  Thee  unseen. 

(55) 


56  THE  EPIPHANY. 


What  matter  ?  if  the  waymarks  sure 
On  every  side  are  round  us  set, 

Soon  overleap'd,  but  not  obscure  ? 
'Tis  ours  to  mark  them  or  forget. 

What  matter?  if  in  calm  old  age 
Our  childhood's  star  again  arise, 

Crowning  our  lonely  pilgrimage 

With  all  that  cheers  a  wanderer's  eyes  ? 

Ne'er  may  we  lose  it  from  our  sight, 
Till  all  our  hopes  and  thoughts  are  led 

To  where  it  stays  its  lucid  flight 
Over  our  Saviour's  lowly  bed. 

There,  swath'd  in  humblest  poverty, 
On  Chastity's  meek  lap  enshrin'd, 

With  breathless  Reverence  waiting  by, 
When  we  our  Sovereign  Master  find, 

Will  not  the  long-forgotten  glow 
Of  mingled  joy  and  awe  return, 

When  stars  above  or  flowers  below 
First  made  our  infant  spirits  burn  ? 

Look  on  us,  Lord,  and  take  our  parts 
Even  on  Thy  throne  of  purity ! 

From  these  our  proud  yet  grovelling  hearts 
Hide  not  Thy  mild  forgiving  eye. 


Did  not  the  Gentile  Church  find  grace, 
Our  mother  dear,  this  favour'd  day  ? 

With  gold  and  myrrh  she  sought  Thy  face, 
Nor  didst  Thou  turn  Thy  face  away. 

She  too,8  in  earlier,  purer  days, 

Had  watch'd  Thee  gleaming  faint  and  far- 
But  wandering  in  self-chosen  ways 

She  lost  Thee  quite,  Thou  lovely  star. 

Yet  had  her  Father's  finger  turn'd 
To  Thee  her  first  inquiring  glance  : 

The  deeper  shame  within  her  burn'd, 
When  waken'd  from  her  wilful  trance. 

Behold,  her  wisest  throng  Thy  gate, 
Their  richest,  sweetest,  purest  store, 

(Yet  own'd  too  worthless  and  too  late,) 
They  lavish  on  Thy  cottage-floor. 

They  give  their  best — 0  tenfold  shame 

On  us  their  fallen  progeny, 
Who  sacrifice  the  blind  and  lame1 — 

Who  will  not  wake  or  fast  with  Thee ! 

*  The  Patriarchal  Church.  t  Malachi  i.  8. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 


They  shall  spring  up  as  among  the  grass,  as  willows  by  the  water  courses. 

Isaiah  xliv.  4. 


Lessons  sweet  of  spring  returning, 

Welcome  to  the  thoughtful  heart ! 
May  I  call  ye  sense  or  learning, 

Instinct  pure,  or  Heaven-taught  art  ? 
Be  your  title  what  it  may, 
Sweet  the  lengthening  April  day, 
While  with  you  the  soul  is  free, 
Ranging  wild  o'er  hill  and  lea. 

Soft  as  Memnon's  harp  at  morning, 

To  the  inward  ear  devout, 
Touch'd  by  light,  with  heavenly  warning 

Your  transporting  chords  ring  out. 
Every  leaf  in  every  nook, 
Every  wave  in  every  brook, 
Chanting  with  a  solemn  voice, 
Minds  us  of  our  better  choice. 

(58) 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY*  59 

Needs  no  show  of  mountain  hoary, 
Winding  shore  or  deepening  glen, 

Where  the  landscape  in  its  glory 
Teaches  truth  to  wandering  men  : 

Give  true  hearts,  but  earth  and  sky, 

And  some  flowers  to  bloom  and  die, — 

Homely  scenes  and  simple  views 

Lowly  thoughts  may  best  infuse. 

See  the  soft  green  willow  springing 

Where  the  waters  gently  pass, 
Every  way  her  free  arms  flinging 

O'er  the  moist  and  reedy  grass. 
Long  ere  winter  blasts  are  fled, 
See  her  tipp'd  with  vernal  red, 
And  her  kindly  flower  display'd 
Ere  her  leaf  can  cast  a  shade. 

Though  the  rudest  hand  assail  her, 

Patiently  she  droops  awhile, 
But  when  showers  and  breezes  hail  her, 

Wears  again  her  willing  smile. 
Thus  I  learn  Contentment's  power 
From  the  slighted  willow  bower, 
Ready  to  give  thanks  and  live 
On  the  least  that  Heaven  may  give. 


60  FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 

If,  the  quiet  brooklet  leaving, 

Up  the  stony  vale  I  wind, 
Haply  half  in  fancy  grieving 

For  the  shades  I  leave  behind, 
By  the  dusty  wayside  drear, 
Nightingales  with  joyous  cheer 
Sing,  my  sadness  to  reprove, 
Gladlier  than  in  cultur'd  grove. 

Where  the  thickest  boughs  are  twining 
Of  the  greenest  darkest  tree, 

There  they  plunge,  the  light  declining — 
All  may  hear,  but  none  may  see. 

Fearless  of  the  passing  hoof, 

Hardly  will  they  fleet  aloof; 

So  they  live  in  modest  ways, 

Trust  entire,  and  ceaseless  praise. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 


Every  man  at  the  beginning  doth  set  forth  good  wine ;  and  when  men  have 
well  drunk,  then  that  which  is  worse :  but  thou  hast  kept  the  good  wine  until 
now.  St.  John  ii.  10. 


The  heart  of  childhood  is  all  mirth  : 

We  frolic  to  and  fro 
As  free  and  blithe,  as  if  on  earth 

Were  no  such  thing  as  woe. 

But  if  indeed  with  reckless  faith 

We  trust  the  nattering  voice, 
Which  whispers,  "  Take  thy  fill  ere  death, 

"  Indulge  thee  and  rejoice ;" 

Too  surely,  every  setting  day, 

Some  lost  delight  we  mourn, 
The  flowers  all  die  along  our  way, 

Till  we,  too,  die  forlorn. 

6  (61) 


62  SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 

Such  is  the  world's  gay  garish  feast, 

In  her  first  charming  bowl 
Infusing  all  that  fires  the  breast, 

And  cheats  th'  unstable  soul. 

And  still,  as  loud  the  revel  swells, 
The  fever'd  pulse  beats  higher, 

Till  the  sear'd  taste  from  foulest  wells 
Is  fain  to  slake  its  fire. 

Unlike  the  feast  of  heavenly  love 

Spread  at  the  Saviour's  word 
For  souls  that  hear  His  call,  and  prove 

Meet  for  His  bridal  board. 

Why  should  we  fear,  youth's  draught  of  joy, 

If  pure,  would  sparkle  less? 
Why  should  the  cup  the  sooner  cloy, 

Which  God  hath  deign'd  to  bless  ? 

For,  is  it  Hope,  that  thrills  so  keen 

Along  each  bounding  vein, 
Still  whispering  glorious  things  unseen  ? — 

Faith  makes  the  vision  plain. 

The  world  would  kill  her  soon  :  but  Faith 
Her  daring  dreams  will  cherish, 

Speeding  her  gaze  o'er  time  and  death 
To  realms  where  nought  can  perish. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY.  63 


Or  is  it  love,  the  dear  delight 
Of  hearts  that  know  no  guile, 

That  all  around  see  all  things  bright 
With  their  own  magic  smile  ? 


The  silent  joy,  that  sinks  so  deep, 

Of  confidence  and  rest, 
Lull'd  in  a  father's  arms  to  sleep, 

Clasp'd  to  a  mother's  breast  ? 

Who,  but  a  Christian,  through  all  life 

That  blessing  may  prolong  ? 
Who,  through  the  world's  sad  day  of  strife, 

Still  chant  his  morning  song  ? 

Fathers  may  hate  us  or  forsake, 

God's  foundlings  then  are  we  : 
Mother  on  child  no  pity  take,u 

But  we  shall  still  have  Thee. 

We  may  look  home,  and  seek  in  vain 

A  fond  fraternal  heart, 
But  Christ  hath  given  His  promise  plain 

To  do  a  Brother's  part. 


Can  a  woman  forget  her  sucking  child,  that  she  should  not  have  com- 
passion on  the  son  of  her  womb  ?  yea,  they  may  forget,  yet  will  I  not  forget 
thee,     Isaiah  xlix.  15. 


64  SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 

Nor  shall  dull  age,  as  worldlings  say, 
The  heavenward  flame  annoy  : 

The  Saviour  cannot  pass  away, 
And  with  Him  lives  our  joy. 

Ever  the  richest  tenderest  glow 
Sets  round  th'  autumnal  sun — 

But  there  sight  fails  :  no  heart  may  know 
The  bliss  when  life  is  done. 

Such  is  Thy  banquet,  dearest  Lord ; 

0  give  us  grace,  to  cast 
Our  lot  with  Thine,  to  trust  Thy  word, 

And  keep  our  best  till  last. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 


When  Jesus  heard  it,  He  marvelled,  and  said  to  them  that  followed,  Verily 
I  say  unto  you,  I  have  not  found  so  great  faith,  no,  not  in  Israel. 

St.  Matthew  viiL  10. 


I  mark'd  a  rainbow  in  the  north, 
What  time  the  wild  autumnal  sun 

From  his  dark  veil  at  noon  look'd  forth, 
As  glorying  in  his  course  half  done, 

Flinging  soft  radiance  far  and  wide 
Over  the  dusky  heaven  and  bleak  hill-side. 

It  was  a  gleam  to  Memory  dear, 
And  as  I  Avalk  and  muse  apart, 

When  all  seems  faithless  round  and  drear, 
I  would  revive  it  in  my  heart, 

And  watch  how  light  can  find  its  way 
To  regions  farthest  from  the  fount  of  day. 

6  *  (65) 


66  THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 

Light  flashes  in  the  gloomiest  sky, 

And  Music  in  the  dullest  plain, 
For  there  the  lark  is  soaring  high 

Over  her  flat  and  leafless  reign, 
And  chanting  in  so  blithe  a  tone, 
It  shames  the  weary  heart  to  feel  itself  alone. 

Brighter  than  rainbow  in  the  north, 

O  J 

More  cheery  than  the  matin  lark, 
Is  the  soft  gleam  of  Christian  worth, 

Which  on  some  holy  house  we  mark; 
Dear  to  the  pastor's  aching  heart 
To  think,  where'er  he  looks,  such  gleam  may  have 
a  part ; 

May  dwell,  unseen  by  all  but  Heaven, 
Like  diamond  blazing  in  the  mine ; 

For  ever,  where  such  grace  is  given, 
It  fears  in  open  day  to  shine. v 

v  Lord,  I  am  not  worthy  that  Thou  shouldest  enter  under  my  roof.  St. 
Luke  vii.  6. 

"From  the  first  time  that  the  impressions  of  religion  settled  deeply  in  his 
mind,  he  used  great  caution  to  conceal  it;  not  only  in  obedience  to  the  rule 
given  by  our  Saviour,  of  fasting,  praying,  and  giving  alms  in  secret,  but  from 
a  particular  distrust  he  had  of  himself;  for  he  said  he  was  afraid  he  should  at 
some  time  or  other  do  some  enormous  thing,  which,  if  he  were  looked  on  as  a 
very  religious  man,  might  cast  a  reproach  on  the  profession  of  it,  and  give 
great  advantages  to  impious  men  to  blaspheme  the  name  of  God."  Burnet's 
Life  of  Hale,  in  Wordsworth' s  Eccl.  Biog.,  vi.  73. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY.  67 

Lest  the  deep  stain  it  owns  within 
Break  out,  and  Faith  be  shain'd  by  the  believer's  sin. 

In  silence  and  afar  they  wait, 

To  find  a  prayer  their  Lord  may  hear 

Voice  of  the  poor  and  desolate, 
You  best  may  bring  it  to  His  ear. 

Your  grateful  intercessions  rise 
With  more  than  royal  pomp,  and  pierce  the  skies. 

Happy  the  soul,  whose  precious  cause 
You  in  the  Sovereign  Presence  plead — 

"  This  is  the  lover  of  Thy  laws,x 

"  The  friend  of  Thine  in  fear  and  need" — 

For  to  the  poor  Thy  mercy  lends 
That  solemn  style,  "  Thy  nation  and  Thy  friends." 

He  too  is  blest,  whose  outward  eye 

The  graceful  lines  of  art  may  trace, 
While  his  free  spirit,  soaring  high, 

Discerns  the  glorious  from  the  base ; 
Till  out  of  dust  his  magic  raise7 
A  home  for  prayer  and  love,  and  full  harmonious 
praise, 

x  He  loveth  our  nation.     St.  Luke  yii.  5. 
y  He  hath  built  us  a  synagogue.     Ibid. 


68  THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 

Where  far  away  and  high  above, 
In  maze  on  maze  the  tranced  sight 

Strays,  mindful  of  that  heavenly  love 
Which  knows  no  end  in  depth  or  height, 

While  the  strong  breath  of  Music  seems 
To  waft  us  ever  on,  soaring  in  blissful  dreams. 

What  though  in  poor  and  humble  guise 

Thou  here  didst  sojourn,  cottage-born  ? 
Yet  from  Thy  glory  in  the  skies  . 

Our  earthly  gold  Thou  dost  not  scorn. 
For  love  delights  to  bring  her  best, 
And  where  Love  is,  that  offering  evermore  is  blest. 

Love  on  the  Saviour's  dying  head 

Her  spikenard  drops  unblam'd  may  pour, 

May  mount  His  cross,  and  wrap  Him  dead 
In  spices  from  the  golden  shore;2 

Risen,  may  embalm  his  sacred  name 
With  all  a  Painter's  art,  and  all  a  Minstrel's  flame. 

Worthless  and  lost  our  offerings  seem, 

Drops  in  the  ocean  of  His  praise ; 
But  Mercy  with  her  genial  beam 

Is  ripening  them  to  pearly  blaze, 
To  sparkle  in  His  crown  above, 
Who  welcomes  here  a  child's  as  there  an  angel's  love. 

z  St.  John  xii.  7    xix.  30. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 


When  they  saw  Him,  they  besought  Him  that  He  would  depart  out  of  their 
coasts.      St.  Matthew  viii.  34. 


They  know  th'  .Almighty's  power, 
Who,  waken'd  by  the  rushing  midnight  shower, 

Watch  for  the  fitful  breeze 
To  howl  and  chafe  amid  the  bending  trees, 

Watch  for  the  still  white  gleam 
To  bathe  the  landscape  in  a  fiery  stream, 
Touching  the  tremulous  eye  with  sense  of  light 
Too  rapid  and  too  pure  for  all  but  angel  sight. 

They  know  th'  Almighty's  love, 
Who,  when   the  whirlwinds  rock   the   topmost 
grove, 

Stand  in  the  shade,  and  hear 
The  tumult  with  a  deep  exulting  fear, 

How,  in  their  fiercest  sway, 
Curb'd  by  some  power  unseen,  they  die  away, 
Like  a  bold  steed  that  owns  his  rider's  arm, 
Proud  to  be  check'd  and  sooth'd  by  that  o'er-mas- 

tering  charm. 

(69) 


70        FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 

But  there  are  storms  within 
That  heave  the  struggling  heart  with  wilder  din. 

And  there  is  power  and  love 
The  maniac's  rushing  frenzy  to  reprove, 

And  when  he  takes  his  seat, 
Cloth'd  and  in  calmness,  at  his  Saviour's  feet,a 
Is  not  the  power  as  strange,  the  love  as  blest, 
As  when  He  said,  Be  still,  and  ocean  sank  to  rest  ? 

Woe  to  the  wayward  heart, 
That  gladlier  turns  to  eye  the  shuddering  start 

Of  Passion  in  her  might, 
Than  marks  the  silent  growth  of  grace  and  light; — 

Pleas'd  in  the  cheerless  tomb 
To  linger,  while  the  morning  rays  illume 
Green  lake,  and  cedar  tuft,  and  spicy  glade, 
Shaking  their  dewy  tresses  now  the  storm  is  laid. 

The  storm  is  laid — and  now 
In  His  meek  power  He  climbs  the  mountain's 

brow, 

Who  bade  the  waves  go  sleep, 
And  lash'd  the  vex'd  fiends  to  their  yawning  deep. 

How  on  a  rock  they  stand, 
Who  watch  His  eye,  and  hold  His  guiding  hand  ! 
Not  half  so  fix'd,  amid  her  vassal  hills, 
Rises  the  holy  pile  that  Kedron's  valley  fills. 

a  St.  Mark  v.  15 ;  iv.  39. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 


71 


And  wilt  thou  seek  again 
Thy  howling  waste,  thy  charnel-house  and  chain, 

And  with  the  demons  be, 
Rather  than  clasp  thine  own  Deliverer's  knee? 

Sure  'tis  no  Heaven-bred  awe 
That  bids  thee  from  His  healing  touch  withdraw; 
The  world  and  He  are  struggling  in  thine  heart, 
And  in  thy  reckless  mood  thou  bidd'st  thy  Lord 

depart. 

He,  merciful  and  mild, 
As  erst,  beholding,  loves  His  wayward  child ; 

When  souls  of  highest  birth 
Waste  their  impassion'd  might  on  dreams  of  earth, 

He  opens  Nature's  book, 
And  on  His  glorious  Gospel  bids  them  look, 
Till  by  such  chords,  as  rule  the  choirs  above, 
Their  lawless  cries  are  tun'd  to  hymns  of  perfect 

love. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 

Behold,  the  Lord's  hand  is  not  shortened,  that  it  cannot  save;  neither  His 
ear  heavy,  that  it  cannot  heaf ;  but  your  iniquities  have  separated  between 
you  and  your  God.  Isaiah  lis.  1,  2. 

"  Wake,  arm  divine !  awake, 

"  Eye  of  the  only  Wise  ! 
"  Now  for  Thy  glory's  sake, 
"  Saviour  and  God,  arise, 
"  And  may  Thine  ear,  that  sealed  seems, 
"  In  pity  mark  our  mournful  themes !" 

Thus  in  her  lonely  hour 

Thy  Church  is  fain  to  cry, 
As  if  Thy  love  and  power 
Were  vanish'd  from  her  sky ; 
Yet  God  is  there,  and  at  His  side 
He  triumphs,  Who  for  sinners  died. 

Ah  !  'tis  the  world  enthralls 

The  heaven-betrothed  breast : 
The  traitor  Sense  recalls 


The  soaring  soul  from  rest. 


(72) 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 


73 


That  bitter  sigh  was  all  for  earth, 
For  glories  gone,  and  vanish'd  mirth. 

Age  would  to  youth  return, 

Farther  from  Heaven  would  be, 
To  feel  the  wildfire  burn, 
On  idolizing  knee 
Again  to  fall,  and  rob  Thy  shrine 
Of  hearts,  the  right  of  love  divine. 

Lord  of  this  erring  flock  ! 

Thou  whose  soft  showers  distil 
On  ocean  waste  or  rock, 
Free  as  on  Hermon  hill, 
Do  Thou  our  craven  spirits  cheer, 
And  shame  away  the  selfish  tear. 

'Twas  silent  all  and  deadb 

Beside  the  barren  sea, 
Where  Philip's  steps  were  led, 
Led  by  a  voice  from  Thee — 
He  rose  and  went,  nor  ask'd  Thee  why, 
Nor  stayed  to  heave  one  faithless  sigh : 

Upon  his  lonely  way 

The  high-born  traveller  came, 
Reading  a  mournful  lay 

Of  "  One  who  bore  our  shame,0 


b  See  Acts  viii.  26—40. 


c  Lsaiah  liii   6—8. 


74  FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 


"  Silent  Himself,  His  name  untold, 
"  And  yet  His  glories  were  of  old." 

To  muse  what  Heaven  might  mean 

His  wondering  brow  he  rais'd, 
And  met  an  eye  serene 

That  on  him  watchful  gaz'd. 
No  Hermit  e'er  so  welcome  cross'd 
A  child's  lone  path  in  woodland  lost. 

Now  wonder  turns  to  love ; 
The  scrolls  of  sacred  lore 
No  darksome  mazes  prove ; 
The  desert  tires  no  more  : 
They  bathe  where  holy  waters  flow, 
Then  on  their  way  rejoicing  go. 

They  part  to  meet  in  Heaven ; 

But  of  the  joy  they  share, 
Absolving  and  forgiven, 

The  sweet  remembrance  bear. 
Yes — mark  him  well,  ye  cold  and  proud, 
Bewilder'd  in  a  heartless  crowd, 

Starting  and  turning  pale 
At  Rumour's  angry  din — 

No  storm  can  now  assail 
The  charm  he  wears  within, 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY.  75 


Rejoicing  still,  and  doing  good, 

And  with  the  thought  of  God  imbu'd. 

No  glare  of  high  estate, 

No  gloom  of  woe  or  want, 
The  radiance  can  abate 

Where  Heaven  delights  to  haunt : 
Sin  only  hides  the  genial  ray, 
And,  round  the  Cross,  makes  night  of  day. 

Then  weep  it  from  thy  heart ; 

So  mayst  thou  duly  learn 
The  intercessor's  part, 

Thy  prayers  and  tears  may  earn 
For  fallen  souls  some  healing  breath, 
Ere  they  have  died  th'  Apostate's  death, 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 


Beloved,  uow  are  we  the  sons  of  God,  and  it  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we 
shall  be;  but  we  know  that,  when  he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be  like  Him;  for 
we  shall  see  him  as  He  is.     1  St.  John  iii.  2. 


There  are,  who  darkling  and  alone, 
Would  wish  the  weary  night  were  gone, 
Though  dawning  morn  should  only  show 
The  secret  of  their  unknown  woe  : 
Who  pray  for  sharpest  throbs  of  pain 
To  ease  them  of  doubt's  galling  chain  : 
"  Only  disperse  the  cloud,"  they  cry, 
And  if  our  fate  be  death,  give  light  and  let  us  die."( 

Unwise  I  deem  them,  Lord,  unmeet 
To  profit  by  Thy  chastenings  sweet, 
For  Thou  wouldst  have  us  linger  still 
Upon  the  verge  of  good  or  ill, 

d  'Ev  Si  (pact  Kal  oXivaov. 

(76) 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY.  77 

That  on  Thy  guiding  hand  unseen 
Our  undivided  hearts  may  lean, 
And  this  our  frail  and  foundering  bark 
Glide  in  the  narrow  wake  of  Thy  beloved  ark. 

'Tis  so  in  war — the  champion  true 
Loves  victory  more,  when  dim  in  view 
He  sees  her  glories  gild  afar 
The  dusky  edge  of  stubborn  war, 
Than  if  th'  untrodden  bloodless  field 
The  harvest  of  her  laurels  yield  ; 
Let  not  my  bark  in  calm  abide, 
But  win  her  fearless  way  against  the  chafing  tide. 

'Tis  so  in  love — the  faithful  heart 
From  her  dim  vision  would  not  part, 
When  first  to  her  fond  gaze  is  given 
That  purest  spot  in  Fancy's  heaven, 
For  all  the  gorgeous  sky  beside, 
Though  pledg'd  her  own  and  sure  t'  abide : 
Dearer  than  every  past  noon-day 
That  twilight  gleam  to  her,  though  faint  and  far 
away. 

So  have  I  seen  some  tender  flower 
Priz'd  above  all  the  vernal  bower, 
Shelter'd  beneath  the  coolest  shade, 
Embosom'd  in  the  greenest  glade, 

7* 


78  SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY. 

So  frail  a  gem,  it  scarce  may  bear 
The  playful  touch  of  evening  air ; 
When  hardier  grown  we  love  it  less, 
And  trust  it  from  our  sight,  not  needing  our  caress. 

And  wherefore  is  the  sweet  spring  tide 
Worth  all  the  changeful  year  beside  ? 
The  last-born  babe,  why  lies  its  part 
Deep  in  the  mother's  inmost  heart  ? 
But  that  the  Lord  and  source  of  love 
Would  have  His  weakest  ever  prove 
Our  tenderest  care — and  most  of  all 
Our  frail  immortal  souls,  His  work  and  Satan's  thrall. 

So  be  it,  Lord  ;  I  know  it  best, 
Though  not  as  yet  this  wayward  breast 
Beat  quite  in  answer  to  Thy  voice  ; 
Yet  surely  I  have  made  my  choice ; 
I  know  not  yet  the  promis'd  bliss, 
Know  not  if  I  shall  win  or  miss ; 
So  doubting  rather  let  me  die, 
Than  close  with  aught  beside,  to  last  eternally. 

What  is  the  heaven  we  idly  dream  ? 
The  self-deceiver's  dreary  theme, 
A  cloudless  sun  that  softly  shines, 
Bright  maidens  and  unfailing  vines, 
The  warrior's  pride,  the  hunter's  mirth, 
Poor  fragments  all  of  this  low  earth  : 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY.  79 

Such  as  in  sleep  would  hardly  soothe 
A  soul  that  once  had  tasted  of  immortal  Truth. 

What  is  the  Heaven  our  God  bestows  ? 
No  Prophet  yet,  no  Angel  knows ; 
Was  never  yet  created  eye 
Could  see  across  Eternity; 
Not  seraph's  wing  for  ever  soaring 
Can  pass  the  flight  of  souls  adoring, 
That  nearer  still  and  nearer  grow 
To  th'  unapproached  Lord,  once  made  for  them  so  low. 

Unseen,  unfelt  their  earthly  growth, 
And  self-accus'd  of  sin  and  sloth 
They  live  and  die ;  their  names  decay, 
Their  fragrance  passes  quite  away ; 
Like  violets  in  the  freezing  blast 
No  vernal  steam  around  they  cast, — 
But  they  shall  flourish  from  the  tomb, 
The  breath  of  God  shall  wake  them  into  od'rous  bloom. 

Then  on  th'  incarnate  Saviour's  breast, 
The  fount  of  sweetness,  they  shall  rest, 
Their  spirits  every  hour  imbu'd 
More  deeply  with  His  precious  blood. 
But  peace — still  voice  and  closed  eye 
Suit  best  with  hearts  beyond  the  sky, 
Hearts  training  in  their  low  abode, 
Daily  to  lose  themselves  in  hope  to  find  their  God. 


SEPTUAGESIMA  SUNDAY. 


The  invisible  things  of  Him  from  the  creation  of  the  world  are  clearly  seen, 
being  understood  by  the  thiugs  that  are  made.        Romans  i.  20. 


There  is  a  book,  who  runs  may  read, 
Which  heavenly  truth  imparts, 

And  all  the  lore  its  scholars  need, 
Pure  eyes  and  Christian  hearts. 


The  works  of  God  above,  below, 

Within  us  and  around, 

Are  pages  in  that  book,  to  show 

How  God  Himself  is  found. 

The  glorious  sky  embracing  all 

Is  like  the  Maker's  love, 

Wherewith  encompass'd,  great  and  small 

In  peace  and  order  move. 

(80) 

SErTUAGESIM.V  SUNDAY. 


81 


The  Moon  above,  the  Church  below, 

A  wondrous  race  they  run, 
But  all  their  radiance,  all  their  glow, 

Each  borrows  of  its  Sun. 

The  Saviour  lends  the  light  and  heat 

That  crowns  His  holy  hill ; 
The  saints,  like  stars,  around  His  seat, 

Perform  their  courses  still.6 

The  saints  above  are  stars  in  Heaven — 
What  are  the  saints  on  earth  ? 

Like  trees  they  stand  whom  God  has  given/ 
Our  Eden's  happy  birth. 

Faith  is  their  fix'd  unswerving  root, 

Hope  their  unfading  flower, 
Fair  deeds  of  charity  their  fruit, 

The  glory  of  their  bower. 

The  dew  of  Heaven  is  like  Thy  grace,g 

It  steals  in  silence  down ; 
But  where  it  lights,  the  favour'd  place 

By  richest  fruits  is  known. 


e  Daniel  xii.  3. 


*  Isaiah  Is.  21. 


B  Psalm  lsviii.  9. 


82  SEPTUAGESIMA  SUNDAY. 

One  Name  above  all  glorious  names 
With  its  ten  thousand  tongues 

The  everlasting  sea  proclaims, 
Echoing  angelic  songs. 

The  raging  Fire,h  the  roaring  Wind, 
Thy  boundless  power  display : 

But  in  the  gentler  breeze  we  find 
Thy  Spirit's  viewless  way.1 

Two  worlds  are  ours  :  'tis  only  Sin 

Forbids  us  to  descry 
The  mystic  heaven  and  earth  within, 

Plain  as  the  sea  and  sky. 

Thou,  who  hast  given  me  eyes  to  see 

And  love  this  sight  so  fair, 
Give  me  a  heart  to  find  out  Thee, 

And  read  Thee  every  where. 

b  Hebrews  xii.  29.  '  St.  John  iii.  S. 


SEXAGESIMA   SUNDAY. 

So  He  drove  out  the  man ;  and  He  placed  at  the  east  of  the  garden  of  Eden 
Cherubirns,  and  a  flaming  sword  which  turned  every  way,  to  keep  the  way  of 
the  tree  of  life.  Gen.  iii.  24 ;  compare  chap.  vi. 

Foe  of  mankind !  too  bold  thy  race  : 

Thou  runn'st  at  such  a  reckless  pace, 
Thine  own  dire  work  thou  surely  wilt  confound  : 

'Twas  but  one  little  drop  of  sin 

We  saw  this  morning  enter  in, 
And  lo !  at  eventide  the  world  is  drown'd. 


See  here  the  fruit  of  wandering  eyes, 

Of  worldly  longings  to  be  wise, 
Of  Passion  dwelling  on  forbidden  sweets : 

Ye  lawless  glances,  freely  rove ; 

Ruin  below  and  wrath  above 
Are  all  that  now  the  wildering  fancy  meets. 

Lord,  when  in  some  deep  garden  glade, 
Of  Thee  and  of  myself  afraid, 
From  thoughts  like  these  among  the  bowers  I  hide, 

(83; 


84  SEXAGESIMA  SUNDAY. 

Nearest  and  loudest  then  of  all 
I  seem  to  hear  the  Judge's  call : — 
"  Where  art  thou,  fallen  man  ?  come  forth,  and  be 
"  thou  tried." 

Trembling  before  Thee  as  I  stand, 

Where'er  I  gaze  on  either  hand 
The  sentence  is  gone  forth,  the  ground  is  curs'd : 

Yet  mingled  with  the  penal  shower 

Some  drops  of  balm  in  every  bower 
Steal  down  like  April  dews,  that  softest  fall  and  first. 

If  filial  and  maternal  lovek 
Memorial  of  our  guilt  must  prove, 

If  sinful  babes  in  sorrow  must  be  born, 
Yet,  to  assuage  her  sharpest  throes, 
The  faithful  mother  surely  knows, 

This  was  the  way  Thou  cam'st  to  save  the  world 
forlorn. 

If  blessed  wedlock  may  not  bless1 

Without  some  tinge  of  bitterness 
To  dash  her  cup  of  joy,  since  Eden  lost, 

Chaining  to  earth  with  strong  desire 

Hearts  that  would  highest  else  aspire, 
And  o'er  the  tenderer  sex  usurping  ever  most ; 

k  In  sorrow  thou  shalt  bring  forth  children. 

1  Thy  desire  shall  bo  to  thy  husband,  and  he  shall  rule  over  theo. 


~1 


SEXAGESIMA  SUNDAY. 


85 


Yet  by  the  light  of  Christian  lore 
Tis  blind  Idolatry  no  more, 

But  a  sweet  help  and  pattern  of  true  love, 
Shewing  how  best  the  soul  may  cling 
To  her  immortal  Spouse  and  King, 

How  He   should   rule,   and   she  with   full   desire 
approve. 
If  niggard  Earth  her  treasures  hide,m 
To  all  but  labouring  hands  denied, 

Lavish  of  thorns  and  worthless  weeds  alone, 
The  doom  is  half  in  mercy  given 
To  train  us  in  our  way  to  Heaven, 

And  show  our  lagging  souls  how  glory  must  be  won. 

If  on  the  sinner's  outward  frame" 

God  hath  impress'd  His  mark  of  blame, 
And  even  our  bodies  shrink  at  touch  of  light, 

Yet  mercy  hath  not  left  us  bare  : 

The  very  weeds  we  daily  wear0 
Are  to  Faith's  eye  a  pledge  of  God's  forgiving  might. 

And  oh  !  if  yet  one  arrow  more,* 
The  sharpest  of  th'  Almighty's  store, 
Tremble  upon  the  string— a  sinner's  death— 

m  Cursed  is  the  ground  for  thy  sake. 

n  I  was  afraid,  because  I  was  naked. 

o  The  Lord  God  made  coats  of  skins,  and  clothed  them. 

P  Thou  eh  alt  surely  die. 


Art  Thou  not  by  to  soothe  and  save, 
To  lay  us  gently  in  the  grave, 
To  close  the  weary  eye  and  hush  the  parting  breath  ? 

Therefore  in  sight  of  man  bereft 

The  happy  garden  still  was  left, 
The  fiery  sword  that  guarded  shew'd  it  too, 

Turning  all  ways,  the  world  to  teach, 

That  though  as  yet  beyond  our  reach, 
Still  in  its  place  the  tree  of  life  and  glory  grew. 


QUINQUAGESIMA  SUNDAY. 


I  do  set  My  bow  in  the  cloud,  and  it  shall  be   for  a  token  of  a  covenant 
between  Me  and  the  earth.     Gen.  ix.  13. 


Sweet  Dove !  the  softest,  steadiest  plume 

In  all  the  sunbright  sky, 
Brightening  in  ever-changeful  bloom 

As  breezes  change  on  high ; — 

Sweet  Leaf!  the  pledge  of  peace  and  mirth, 
"  Long  sought,  and  lately  won," 

Bless'd  increase  of  reviving  Earth, 
When  first  it  felt  the  Sun ; — 

Sweet  Rainbow !  pride  of  summer  days, 
High  set  at  Heaven's  command, 

Though  into  drear  and  dusky  haze 
Thou  melt  on  either  hand ; — 

(87) 


Dear  tokens  of  a  pardoning  God, 

We  hail  ye,  one  and  all, 
As  when  our  fathers  walk'd  abroad, 

Freed  from  their  twelvemonths'  thrall. 

How  joyful  from  th'  imprisoning  ark 
On  the  green  earth  they  spring ! 

Not  blither,  after  showers,  the  Lark 
Mounts  up  with  glistening  wing. 

So  home-bound  sailors  spring  to  shore, 

Two  oceans  safely  past ; 
So  happy  souls,  when  life  is  o'er, 

Plunge  in  th'  empyreal  vast. 

What  wins  their  first  and  fondest  gaze 

In  all  the  blissful  field, 
And  keeps  it  through  a  thousand  days? 

Love  face  to  face  reveal'd  : 

Love  imag'd  in  that  cordial  look 

Our  Lord  in  Eden  bends 
On  souls  that  sin  and  earth  forsook 

In  time  to  die  His  friends. 

And  what  most  welcome  and  serene 
Dawns  on  the  Patriarch's  eye, 

In  all  th'  emerging  hills  so  green, 
In  all  the  brightening  sky  ? 


What  but  the  gentle  rainbow's  gleam 

Soothing  the  wearied  sight, 
That  cannot  bear  the  solar  beam, 

With  soft  undazzling  light  ? 

Lord,  if  our  fathers  turn'd  to  Thee 

With  such  adoring  gaze, 
Wondering  frail  man  Thy  light  should  see 

Without  Thy  scorching  blaze  ; 

Where  is  our  love,  and  where  our  hearts, 

We  who  have  seen  Thy  Son, 
Have  tried  Thy  Spirit's  winning  arts, 
And  yet  we  are  not  won  ? 

The  Son  of  God  in  radiance  beam'd 

Too  bright  for  us  to  scan, 
But  we  may  face  the  rays  that  stream'd 

From  the  mild  Son  of  Man. 

There,  parted  into  rainbow  hues, 
In  sweet  harmonious  strife, 

We  see  celestial  love  diffuse 
Its  light  o'er  Jesus'  life. 

God,  by  his  bow,  vouchsafes  to  write 
This  truth  in  Heaven  above ; 

As  every  lovely  hue  is  Light, 
So  every  grace  is  Love. 

8* 


ASH-WEDNESDAY. 


"When  thou  fastest,  anoint  thine  head,  and  wash  thy  face;  that  thou  appear 
not  unto  men  to  fast,  but  unto  thy  Father  which  is  in  secret, 

St.  Matthew  vi.  17. 


«  YEs — deep  within  and  deeper  yet 

"The  rankling  shaft  of  conscience  hide, 
"  Quick  let  the  swelling  eye  forget 

"  The  tears  that  in  the  heart  abide. 
"Calm  be  the  voice,  the  aspect  bold, 

"  No  shuddering  pass  o'er  lip  or  brow, 
"  For  why  should  Innocence  be  told 

"  The  pangs  that  guilty  spirits  bow  ? 

"  The  loving  eye  that  watches  thine 

"  Close  as  the  air  that  wraps  thee  round — 

"Why  in  thy  sorrow  should  it  pine, 
"  Since  never  of  thy  sin  it  found  ? 

"  And  wherefore  should  the  heathen  seeq 
"What  chains  of  darkness  thee  enslave, 

i  Wherefore  should  they  say  among  the  people,  Where  is  their  God?    Joel 

ii.  17. 

(90) 


ASH-WEDNESDAY.  91 


"  And  mocking  say,  Lo,  this  is  he 

"  Who  own'd  a  God  that  could  not  save  ?' 

Thus  oft  the  mourner's  wayward  heart 

Tempts  him  to  hide  his  grief  and  die, 
Too  feeble  for  Confession's  smart, 

Too  proud  to  bear  a  pitying  eye ; 
How  sweet,  in  that  dark  hour,  to  fall 

On  bosoms  waiting  to  receive 
Our  sighs,  and  gently  whisper  all ! 

They  love  us — will  not  God  forgive  ? 

Else  let  us  keep  our  fast  within, 

Till  Heaven  and  we  are  quite  alone. 
Then  let  the  grief,  the  shame,  the  sin, 

Before  the  mercy-seat  be  thrown. 
Between  the  porch  and  altar  weep, 

Unworthy  of  the  holiest  place, 
Yet  hoping  near  the  shrine  to  keep 

One  lowly  cell  in  sight  of  grace. 

Nor  fear  lest  sympathy  should  fail — 

Hast  thou  not  seen,  in  night-hours  drear, 

When  racking  thoughts  the  heart  assail, 
The  glimmering  stars  by  turns  appear, 

And  from  th'  eternal  home  above 
With  silent  news  of  mercy  steal  ? 


92  ASH-WEDNESDAY. 


So  Angels  pause  on  tasks  of  love, 

To  look  where  sorrowing  sinners  kneel. 

Or  if  no  Angel  pass  that  way, 

He  who  in  secret  sees,  perchance 
May  bid  His  own  heart-warming  ray 

Toward  thee  stream  with  kindlier  glance, 
As  when  upon  His  drooping  head 

His  Father's  light  was  pour'd  from  Heaven, 
What  time,  unshelter'd  and  unfed,1' 

Far  in  the  wild  His  steps  were  driven. 

High  thoughts  were  with  Him  in  that  hour, 

Untold,  unspeakable  on  earth — 
And  who  can  stay  the  soaring  power 

Of  spirits  wean'd  from  worldly  mirth, 
While  far  beyond  the  sound  of  praise 

With  upward  eye  they  float  serene, 
And  learn  to  bear  their  Saviour's  blaze 

When  Judgment  shall  undraw  the  screen  ? 

r  St.  Matt.  iv.  1. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  LENT 

Haste  thee,  escape  thither ;    for  I  cannot  do  anything  till  thou  be  come 
thither.     Therefore  the  name  of  the  city  was  called  Zoar.     Gen.  xix.  22. 

"  Angel  of  wrath  !  why  linger  in  mid  air, 

"  While  the  devoted  city's  cry 
"  Louder   and  louder  swells  ?  and  canst  thou  spare, 

"  Thy  full-charg'd  vial  standing  by  ?" 
Thus,  with  stern  voice,  unsparing  Justice  pleads : 

He  hears  her  not — with  soften'd  gaze 
His  eye  is  following  where  sweet  Mercy  leads, 
And  till  she  give  the  sign,  his  fury  stays. 

Guided  by  her,  along  the  mountain  road, 
Far  through  the  twilight  of  the  morn, 

With  hurrying  footsteps  from  th'  accurs'd  abode 
He  sees  the  holy  household  borne  : 

Angels,  or  more,  on  either  hand  are  nigh, 
To  speed  them  o'er  the  tempting  plain, 

Lingering  in  heart,  and  with  frail  sidelong  eye 

Seeking  how  near  they  may  unharm'd  remain. 

(93) 


9  t  FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  LENT. 


"  All !  wherefore  gleam  those  upland  slopes  so  fair  ? 

"  And  why,  through  every  woodland  arch, 
"  Swells  yon  bright  vale,  as  Eden  rich  and  rare, 

"  Where  Jordan  winds  his  stately  march ; 
"  If  all  must  be  forsaken,  ruin'd  all, 

"  If  God  have  planted  but  to  burn  ? — 
"  Surely  not  yet  th'  avenging  shower  will  fall, 
"  Though  to  my  home  for  one  last  look  I  turn." 

Thus  while  they  waver,  surely  long  ago 

They  had  provok'd  the  withering  blast, 

But  that  the  merciful  Avengers  know 

Their  frailty  well,  and  hold  them  fast. 

"  Haste,  for  thy  life  escape,  nor  look  behind" — 
Ever  in  thrilling  sounds  like  these 

They  check  the  wandering  eye,  severely  kind, 

Nor  let  the  sinner  lose  his  soul  at  ease. 

And  when,  o'erwearied  with  the  steep  ascent, 

We  for  a  nearer  refuge  crave, 
One  little  spot  of  ground  in  mercy  lent, 

One  hour  of  home  before  the  grave, 
Oft  in  his  pity  o'er  his  children  weak, 

His  hand  withdraws  the  penal  fire, 
And  where  we  fondly  cling,  forbears  to  wreak 
Full  vengeance,  till  our  hearts  are  wean'd  entire. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  LENT.  05 


Thus,  by  the  merits  of  one  righteous  man, 

The  Church,  our  Zoar,  shall  abide, 
Till  she  abuse,  so  sore,  her  lengthen'd  span, 

Even  Mercy's  self  her  face  must  hide. 
Then,  onward  yet  a  step,  thou  hard-won  soul; 

Though  in  the  Church  thou  know  thy  place, 
The  mountain  farther  lies — there  seek  thy  goal, 

There  breathe  at  large,  o'erpast  thy  dangerous 
race. 

Sweet  is  the  smile  of  home ;  the  mutual  look 

When  hearts  are  of  each  other  sure  ; 
Sweet  all  the  joys  that  crowd  the  household  nook, 

•    The  haunt  of  all  affections  pure  ; 
Yet  in  the  world  even  these  abide,  and  we 

Above  the  world  our  calling  boast : 
Once  gain  the  mountain  top,  and  thou  art  free  : 
Till  then,  who  rest,  presume ;  who  turn  to  look,  are 
lost. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  LENT. 


And  when  Esau  heard  the  words  of  his  father,  he  cried  with  a  great  and 
exceeding  hitter  cry,  and  said  unto  his  father,  Bless  me,  even  me  also,  0  my 
father.  Gen.  xxvii.  34.  (Compare  Hebrews  xii.  17.  He  found  no  place  of 
repentance,  though  he  sought  it  carefully  with  tears.8) 


"  And  is  there  in  God's  world  so  drear  a  place 
"  Where  the  loud  bitter  cry  is  rais'd  in  vain  ? 

"  Where  tears  of  penance  come  too  late  for  grace, 
"  As  on  th'  uprooted  flower  the  genial  rain  ?" 

'Tis  even  so :  the  sovereign  Lord  of  souls 

Stores  in  the  dungeon  of  His  boundless  realm 

Each  bolt,  that  o'er  the  sinner  vainly  rolls, 
With  gather'd  wrath  the  reprobate  to  whelm. 

s  The  author  earnestly  hopes,  that  nothing  in  these  stanzas  will  be  under- 
stood to  express  any  opinion  as  to  the  general  efficacy  of  what  is  called  "a 
death-bed  repentance."  Such  questions  are  best  left  in  the  merciful  obscurity 
with  which  Scripture  has  enveloped  them.  Esau's  probation,  as  far  as  his 
birthright  was  concerned,  was  quite  over  when  ho  uttered  the  cry  in  the  text. 
Uis  despondency,  therefore,  is  not  parallel  to  any  thing  on  this  side  the 
grave. 

(96) 


Will  the  storm  hear  the  sailor's  piteous  cry/ 

Taught  to  mistrust,  too  late,  the  tempting  wave, 

When  all  around  he  sees  but  sea  and  sky 
A  God  in  anger,  a  self-chosen  grave  ? 

Or  will  the  thorns,  that  strew  intemperance'  bed, 
Turn  with  a  wish  to  down  ?  will  late  remorse 

Recall  the  shaft  the  murderer's  hand  has  sped, 
Or  from  the  guiltless  bosom  turn  its  course  ? 

Then  may  the  unbodied  soul  in  safety  fleet 
Through  the  dark  curtains  of  the  world  above, 

Fresh  from  the  stain  of  crime ;  nor  fear  to  meet 
The  God,  whom  here  she  would  not  learn  to  love  : 

Then  is  there  hope  for  such  as  die  unblest, 

That  angel  wings  may  waft  them  to  the  shore, 

Nor  need  th'  unready  virgin  strike  her  breast, 
Nor  wait  desponding  round  the  bridegroom's  door. 

But  where  is  then  the  stay  of  contrite  hearts  ? 

Of  old  they  lean'd  on  Thy  eternal  word, 
But  with  the  sinners'  fear  their  hope  departs, 

Fast  link'd  as  Thy  great  name  to  Thee,  0  Lord : 

That  Name,  by  which  Thy  faithful  oath  is  past, 
That  we  should  endless  be,  for  joy  or  woe  : — 

And  if  the  treasures  of  Thy  wrath  could  waste, 
Thy  lovers  must  their  promis'd  Heaven  forego. 

Compare  Bp.  Butler's  Analogy,  pp.  54 — 64,  ed.  1736. 


98  SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  LENT. 

Bat  ask  of  elder  days,  earth's  vernal  hour, 
When  in  familiar  talk  God's  voice  was  heard, 

When  at  the  Patriarch's  call  the  fiery  shower 
Propitious  o'er  the  turf-built  shrine  appear'd. 

Watch  by  our  hither  Isaac's  pastoral  door — 
The  birthright  sold,  the  blessing  lost  and  won, 

Tell,  Heaven  has  wrath  that  can  relent  no  more, 
The  Grave,  dark  deeds  that  cannot  be  undone. 

We  barter  life  for  pottage ;  sell  true  bliss 
For  wealth  or  power,  for  pleasure  or  renown 

Thus,  Esau-like,  our  Father's  blessing  miss, 

Then  wash  with  fruitless  tears  our  faded  crown. 

Our  faded  crown,  despis'd  and  flung  aside, 

Shall  on  some  brother's  brow  immortal  bloom, 

No  partial  hand  the  blessing  may  misguide ; 

No  flattering  fancy  change  our  Monarch's  doom : 

His  righteous  doom,  that  meek  true-hearted  Love 
The  everlasting  birthright  should  receive, 

The  softest  dews  drop  on  her  from  above,u 

The  richest  green  her  mountain  garland  weave : 

Her  brethren,  mightiest,  wisest,  eldest  born, 
Bow  to  her  sway,  and  move  at  her  behest : 

Isaac's  fond  blessing  may  not  fall  on  scorn, 

Nor  Balaam's  curse  on  Love,  which  God  hath  blest, 

n  Genesis  xxvii.  27,  28. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  LENT. 

When  a  strong  man  armed  keepetb  his  palace,  his  goods  arc  in  peace;  but 
when  a  stronger  than  he  shall  come  upon  him  and  overcome  him,  he  taketh 
from  him  all  his  armour  wherein  he  trusted,  and  divideth  his  spoils. 

St.  Luke  xi.  21,  22. 

See  Lucifer  like  lightning  fall, 

Dash'd  from  his  throne  of  pride ; 
While,  answering  Thy  victorious  call, 
The  Saints  his  spoils  divide; 
This  world  of  Thine,  by  him  usurp'd  too  long, 
Now  opening  all  her  stores  to  heal  Thy  servants' 
wrong. 

So  when  the  first-born  of  Thy  foes 

Dead  in  the  darkness  lay, 
When  Thy  redeem'd  at  midnight  rose 
And  cast  their  bonds  away, 
The  orphan'd  realm  threw  wide  her  gates,  and  told 
Into  freed  Israel's  lap  her  jewels  and  her  gold. 

(99) 


And  when  their  wondrous  march  was  o'er, 

And  they  had  won  their  homes, 
Where  Abraham  fed  his  flock  of  yore, 
Among  their  fathers'  tombs ; — 
A  land  that  drinks  the  rain  of  Heaven  at  will, 
Whose  waters  kiss  the  feet  of  many  a  vine-clad 
hill  ;— 

Oft  as  they  watch'd,  at  thoughtful  eve, 

A  gale  from  bowers  of  balm 
Sweep  o'er  the  billowy  corn,  and  heave 
The  tresses  of  the  palm, 
Just  as  the  lingering  Sun  had  touch'd  with  gold, 
Far  o'er  the  cedar  shade,  some  tower  of  giants  old ; 

It  was  a  fearful  joy,  I  ween, 

To  trace  the  Heathen's  toil, 
The  limpid  wells,  the  orchards  green, 
Left  ready  for  the  spoil, 
The  household  stores  untouch'd,  the  roses  bright 
Wreath'd  o'er  the  cottage  walls  in  garlands  of  delight. 

And  now  another  Canaan  yields 
To  Thine  all-conquering  ark  ; — 

Fly  from  the  "  old  poetic"  fields/ 
Ye  Paynitn  shadows  dark ! 

x  Where  each  old  poetic  mountain 

Inspiration  breathed  around.     Gray. 


Immortal  Greece,  dear  land  of  glorious  lays, 
Lo !  here  the  "  unknown  God"  of  thy  unconscious 
praise ! 

The  olive  wreath,  the  ivied  wand, 
"  The  sword  in  myrtles  drest," 
Each  legend  of  the  shadowy  strand 
Now  wakes  a  vision  blest ; 
As  little  children  lisp,  and  tell  of  Heaven, 
So  thoughts  beyond  their  thought   to  those  high 
Bards  were  given. 

And  these  are  ours :  Thy  partial  grace 

The  tempting  treasure  lends  : 
These  relics  of  a  guilty  race 
Are  forfeit  to  Thy  friends ; 
What  seem'd  an  idol  hymn,  now  breathes  of  Thee, 
Tun'd  by  Faith's  ear  to  some  celestial  melody. 

There's  not  a  strain  to  Memory  dear/ 

Nor  flower  in  classic  grove, 
There's  not  a  sweet  note  warbled  here, 
But  minds  us  of  Thy  Love. 
0  Lord,  our  Lord,  and  spoiler  of  our  foes, 
There  is  no  light  but  Thine  :  with  Thee  all  beauty 
glows. 

y  Seo  Burns's  Works,  i.  293,  Dr.  Currie's  edition. 
9* 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT. 

Joseph  made  haste;  for  his  bowels  did  yearn  upon  his  brother;  and  he 
sought  where  to  weep;  and  he  entered  into  his  chamber,  and  wept  there. 

Genesis  xliii.  30. 

There  stood  no  man  with  him,  while  Joseph  made  himself  known  unto  his 
brethren.  Genesis  xlv.  1. 

When  Nature  tries  her  finest  touch, 

Weaving  her  vernal  wreath, 
Mark  ye,  how  close  she  veils  her  round, 
Not  to  be  trac'd  by  sight  or  sound, 

Nor  soil'd  by  ruder  breath  ? 

Who  ever  saw  the  earliest  rose 

First  open  her  sweet  breast  ? 
Or,  when  the  summer  sun  goes  down, 
The  first  soft  star  in  evening's  crown 

Light  up  her  gleaming  crest? 

Fondly  we  seek  the  dawning  bloom 

On  features  wan  and  fair, — 
The  gazing  eye  no  change  can  trace, 
But  look  away  a  little  space, 

Then  turn,  and,  lo !  'tis  there. 

(102) 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT.  103 

But  there's  a  sweeter  flower  than  e'er 

Blush'd  on  the  rosy  spray — 
A  brighter  star,  a  richer  bloom 
Than  e'er  did  western  heaven  illume 

At  close  of  summer  day. 

Tis  love,  the  last  best  gift  of  Heaven ; 

Love  gentle,  holy,  pure ; 
But  tenderer  than  a  dove's  soft  eye, 
The  searching  sun,  the  open  sky, 

She  never  could  endure. 

Even  human  Love  will  shrink  from  sight 

Here  in  the  coarse  rude  earth  : 
How  then  should  rash  intruding  glance 
Break  in  upon  her  sacred  trance 

Who  boasts  a  heavenly  birth  ? 

So  still  and  secret  is  her  growth, 

Ever  the  truest  heart, 
Where  deepest  strikes  her  kindly  root 
For  hope  or  joy,  for  flower  or  fruit, 

Least  knows  its  happy  part. 

God  only,  and  good  angels,  look 

Behind  the  blissful  screen — 
As  when,  triumphant  o'er  His  woes, 
The  Son  of  God  by  moonlight  rose, 

By  all  but  Heaven  unseen  : 


104  FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT. 

As  when  the  holy  Maid  beheld 

Her  risen  Son  and  Lord  : 
Thought  has  not  colours  half  so  fair 
That  she  to  paint  that  hour  may  dare, 

In  silence  best  ador'd. 

The  gracious  Dove,  that  brought  from  Heaven 

The  earnest  of  our  bliss, 
Of  many  a  chosen  witness  telling, 
On  many  a  happy  vision  dwelling, 

Sings  not  a  note  of  this. 

So,  truest  image  of  the  Christ, 

Old  Israel's  long-lost  son, 
What  time,  with  sweet  forgiving  cheer, 
He  call'd  his  conscious  brethren  near, 

Would  weep  with  them  alone. 

He  could  not  trust  his  melting  soul 

But  in  his  Maker's  sight — 
Then  why  should  gentle  hearts  and  true 
Bare  to  the  rude  world's  withering  view 

Their  treasure  of  delight ! 

No — let  the  dainty  rose  awhile 

Her  bashful  fragrance  hide — 
Rend  not  her  silken  veil  too  soon, 
But  leave  her,  in  her  own  soft  noon, 

To  flourish  and  abide. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT. 


And  Moses  said,  I  will  now  turn  aside,  and  see  this  great  sight,  why  the 
bush  is  not  burnt.     Exodus  iii.  3. 


Th'  historic  Muse,  from  age  to  age, 
Thro'  many  a  waste  heart-sickening  page 

Hath  trac'd  the  works  of  Man : 
But  a  celestial  call  to-day 
Stays  her,  like  Moses,  on  her  way, 

The  works  of  God  to  scan. 

Far  seen  across  the  sandy  wild, 
Where,  like  a  solitary  child, 

He  thoughtless  roam'd  and  free, 
One  towering  thornz  was  wrapt  in  flame — 
Bright  without  blaze  it  went  and  came  : 

Who  would  not  turn  and  see  ? 

z  "Seneh  :"  said  to  be  a  sort  of  Acacia. 

(105) 


106  FIFTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT. 

Along  the  mountain  ledges  green 
The  scatter'd  sheep  at  will  may  glean 

The  Desert's  spicy  stores  : 
The  while,  with  undivided  heart, 
The  shepherd  talks  with  God  apart, 

And,  as  he  talks,  adores. 

Ye  too,  who  tend  Christ's  wildering  flock, 
Well  may  ye  gather  round  the  rock 

That  once  was  Sion's  hill : 
To  watch  the  fire  upon  the  mount 
Still  blazing,  like  the  solar  fount, 

Yet  unconsuming  still. 

Caught  from  that  blaze  by  wrath  divine, 
Lost  branches  of  the  once-lov'd  vine, 

Now  wither'd,  spent,  and  sere, 
See  Israel's  sons,  like  glowing  brands, 
Tost  wildly  o'er  a  thousand  lands 

For  twice  a  thousand  year. 

God  will  not  quench  nor  slay  them  quite 
But  lifts  them  like  a  beacon  light 

Th'  apostate  Church  to  scare ; 
Or  like  pale  ghosts  that  darkling  roam, 
Hovering  around  their  ancient  home, 

But  find  no  refuge  there. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT. 


107 


Ye  blessed  Angels  !  if  of  you 
There  be,  who  love  the  ways  to  view 

Of  Kings  and  Kingdoms  here 
(And  sure,  'tis  worth  an  Angel's  gaze, 
To  see,  throughout  that  dreary  maze, 

God  teaching  love  and  fear :) 

Oh  say,  in  all  the  bleak  expanse, 
Is  there  a  spot  to  win  your  glance, 

So  bright,  so  dark  as  this  ? 
A  hopeless  faith,  a  homeless  race, 
Yet  seeking  the  most  holy  place, 

And  owning  the  true  bliss  ! 

Salted  with  fire  they  seem,a  to  show 
How  spirits  lost  in  endless  woe 

May  undecaying  live. 
Oh,  sickening  thought!  yet  hold  it  fast 
Long  as  this  glittering  world  shall  last, 

Or  sin  at  heart  survive. 

And  hark !  amid  the  flashing  fire, 
Mingling  with  tones  of  fear  and  ire, 

Soft  Mercy's  undersong — 
'Tis  Abraham's  God  who  speaks  so  loud, 
His  people's  cries  have  pierc'd  the  cloud, 

He  sees,  He  sees  their  wrong  ;b 

a  St.  Mark  ix.  49.  »  Exod.  iii.  7,  8. 


108  FIFTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT. 

He  is  come  down  to  break  their  chain; 
Though  never  more  on  Sion's  fane 

His  visible  ensign  wave ; 
Tis  Sion,  wheresoe'er  they  dwell, 
Who,  with  His  own  true  Israel, 

Shall  own  Him  strong  to  save. 

He  shall  redeem  them  one  by  one, 
Where'er  the  world-encircling  sun 
Shall  see  them  meekly  kneel : 
All  that  He  asks  on  Israel's  part, 
Is  only,  that  the  captive  heart 
*  Its  woe  and  burthen  feel. 

Gentiles  !  with  fix'd  yet  awful  eye 
Turn  ye  this  page  of  mystery, 

Nor  slight  the  warning  sound  : 
"  Put  off  thy  shoes  from  off  thy  feet — 
"  The  place  where  man  his  God  shall  meet, 

"Be  sure,  is  holy  ground." 


PALM  SUNDAY 


And  He  answered  and  said  unto  them,  I  tell  you  that,  if  these  should  hold 
their  peace,  the  stones  would  immediately  cry  out.     St.  Lukt  xix.  40. 


Ye  whose  hearts  are  beating  high 
With  the  pulse  of  Poesy, 
Heirs  of  more  than  royal  race, 
Fram'd  by  Heaven's  peculiar  grace, 
God's  own  work  to  do  on  earth, 

(If  the  word  be  not  too  bold,) 
Giving  virtue  a  new  birth, 

And  a  life  that  ne'er  grows  old — 

Sovereign  masters  of  all  hearts  ! 
Know  ye,  who  hath  set  your  parts  ? 
He  who  gave  you  breath  to  sing, 
By  whose  strength  ye  sweep  the  string, 
He  hath  chosen  you,  to  lead 

His  Hosannas  here  below; — 
Mount,  and  claim  your  glorious  meed ; 

Linger  not  with  sin  and  woe. 

10  (109) 


110  PALM  SUNDAY. 


But  if  ye  should  hold  your  peace, 
Deem  not  that  the  song  would  cease — 
Angels  round  His  glory-throne, 
Stars,  His  guiding  hand  that  own, 
Flowers,  that  grow  beneath  our  feet, 

Stones  in  earth's  dark  womb  that  rest, 
High  and  low  in  choir  shall  meet, 

Ere  His  Name  shall  be  unblest. 

Lord,  by  every  minstrel  tongue 
Be  Thy  praise  so  duly  sung, 
That  Thine  angels'  harps  may  ne'er 
Fail  to  find  fit  echoing  here : 
We  the  while,  of  meaner  birth, 

Who  in  that  divinest  spell 
Dare  not  hope  to  join  on  earth, 

Give  us  grace  to  listen  well. 

But  should  thankless  silence  seal 
Lips,  that  might  half  Heaven  reveal, 
Should  bards  in  idol-hymns  profane 
The  sacred  soul-enthralling  strain, 
(As  in  this  bad  world  below 

Noblest  things  find  vilest  using,) 
Then,  Thy  power  and  mercy  show, 

In  vile  things  noble  breath  infusing ; 


PALM  SUNDAY.  Ill 


Then  waken  into  sound  divine 
The  very  pavement  of  Thy  shrine, 
Till  we,  like  Heaven's  star-sprinkled  floor, 
Faintly  give  back  what  we  adore : 
Childlike  though  the  voices  be, 

And  untunable  the  parts, 
Thou  wilt  own  the  minstrelsy, 

If  it  flow  from  childlike  hearts. 


MONDAY  BEFORE  EASTER. 

Doubtless  Thou  art  our  Father,  though  Abraham  be  ignorant  of  us,  and  Israel 
acknowledge  us  not.     Isaiah  lxiii.  16. 

"  Father  to  me  Thou  art  and  Mother  dear, 

"  And  Brother  too,  kind  Husband  of  my  heart" — 
So  speaks  Andromache0  in  boding  fear, 

Ere  from  her  last  embrace  her  hero  part- 
So  evermore,  by  Faith's  undying  glow, 
We  own  the  Crucified  in  weal  or  woe. 

Strange  to  our  ears  the  church-bells  of  our  home, 
The  fragrance  of  our  old  paternal  fields 

May  be  forgotten ;  and  the  time  may  come 

When  the  babe's  kiss  no  sense  of  pleasure  yields 

Even  to  the  doting  mother :  but  thine  own 

Thou  never  canst  forget,  nor  leave  alone. 

0  Iliad,  vi.  429. 

(112) 


MONDAY  BEFORE  EASTER.  113 

There  are  who  sigh  that  no  fond  heart  is  theirs, 
None  loves  them  best — 0  vain  and  selfish  sigh ! 

Out  of  the  bosom  of  His  love  He  spares — 
The  Father  spares  the  Son,  for  thee  to  die : 

For  thee  He  died — for  thee  He  lives  again  : 

O'er  thee  He  watches  in  His  boundless  reign. 

Thou  art  as  much  His  care,  as  if  beside 

Nor  man  nor  angel  liv'd  in  Heaven  or  earth 

Thus  sunbeams  pour  alike  their  glorious  tide 
To  light  up  worlds,  or  wake  an  insect's  mirth : 

They  shine  and  shine  with  unexhausted  store 

Thou  art  thy  Saviour's  darling — seek  no  more. 

On  thee  and  thine,  thy  warfare  and  thine  end, 
Even  in  His  hour  of  agony  He  thought, 

When,  ere  the  final  pang  His  soul  should  rend, 
The  ransom'd  spirits  one  by  one  were  brought 

To  His  mind's  eye — two  silent  nights  and  days'1 

In  calmness  for  His  far-seen  hour  He  stays. 

Ye  vaulted  cells,  where  martyr'd  seers  of  old 
Far  in  the  rocky  walls  of  Sion  sleep, 

Green  terraces  and  arched  fountains  cold, 

Where  lies  the  cypress  shade  so  still  and  deep, 

Dear  sacred  haunts  of  glory  and  of  woe, 

Help  us,  one  hour,  to  trace  His  musings  high  and  low  : 

d  In  Passion  week,  from  Tuesday  evening  to  Thursday  evening:  during 
which  time  Scripture  seems  to  be  nearly  silent  concerning  our  Saviour's 
proceedings. 


One  heart-ennobling  hour  !     It  may  not  be  : 

Th'  unearthly  thoughts  have  pass'd  from  earth 
away, 

And  fast  as  evening  sunbeams  from  the  sea 
Thy  footsteps  all  in  Sion's  deep  decay 

Were  blotted  from  the  holy  ground  :  yet  dear 

Is  every  stone  of  hers;  for  Thou  wast  surely  here. 

There  is  a  spot  within  this  sacred  dale 

That  felt  Thee  kneeling — touch'd  Thy  prostrate 
brow 

One  angel  knows  it.     0  might  prayer  avail 
To  win  that  knowledge !  sure  each  holy  vow 

Less  quickly  from  th'  unstable  soul  would  fade, 

Oifer'd  where  Christ  in  agony  was  laid. 

Might  tear  of  ours  once  mingle  with  the  blood 
That  from  His  aching  brow  by  moonlight  fell, 

Over  the  mournful  joy  our  thoughts  would  brood, 
Till  they  had  fram'd  within  a  guardian  spell 

To  chase  repining  fancies,  as  they  rise, 

Like  birds  of  evil  wing,  to  mar  our  sacrifice. 

So  dreams  the  heart  self-flattering,  fondly  dreams; — 
Else  wherefore,  when  the  bitter  waves  o'erflow, 

Miss  we  the  light,  Gethsemane,  that  streams 
From  thy  dear  name,  where  in  His  page  of  woe 

It  shines,  a  pale  kind  star  in  winter's  sky  ? 

Who  vainly  reads  it  there,  in  vain  had  seen  Him  die. 


TUESDAY  BEFORE  EASTER. 


They  gave  Him  to  drink  wine  mingled  with  myrrh :  but  He  received  it  nou. 

St.  Mark  xv.  23. 


"  Fill  high  the  bowl,  and  spice  it  well,  and  pour 
"  The  dews  oblivious :  for  the  Cross  is  sharp, 

"  The  Cross  is  sharp,  and  He 

"  Is  tenderer  than  a  lamb. 

"  He  wept  by  Lazarus'  grave — how  will  He  bear 
"  This  bed  of  anguish  ?  and  His  pale  weak  form 

"  Is  worn  with  many  a  watch 

"  Of  sorrow  and  unrest. 


"  His  sweat  last  night  was  as  great  drops  of  blood, 
"  And  the  sad  burthen  press'd  Him  so  to  earth, 

"  The  very  torturers  paus'd 

"  To  help  Him  on  His  way. 

(115) 


"  Fill  high  the  bowl,  benumb  His  aching  sense 
"  With  medicin'd  sleep." — 0  awful  in  Thy  woe  ! 

The  parching  thirst  of  death 

Is  on  Thee,  and  Thou  triest 

The  slumb'rous  potion  bland,  and  wilt  not  drink  : 
Not  sullen,  nor  in  scorn,  like  haughty  man 

With  suicidal  hand 

Putting  his  solace  by  : 

But  as  at  first  Thine  all-pervading  look 
Saw  from  Thy  Father's  bosom  to  th'  abyss, 

Measuring  in  calm  presage 

The  infinite  descent; 

So  to  the  end,  though  now  of  mortal  pangs 
Made  heir,  and  emptied  of  Thy  glory'  awhile, 

With  unaverted  eye 

Thou  meetest  all  the  storm. 

Thou  wilt  feel  all,  that  Thou  mays't  pity  all; 
And  rather  would'st  Thou  wrestle  with  strong  pain, 

Than  overcloud  Thy  soul, 

So  clear  in  agony, 

Or  lose  one  glimpse  of  Heaven  before  the  time. 
0  most  entire  and  perfect  sacrifice, 

Renew'd  in  every  pulse 

That  on  the  tedious  Cross 


Told  the  long  hours  of  death,  as,  one  by  one, 
The  life-strings  of  that  tender  heart  gave  way.; 

Even  sinners,  taught  by  Thee, 

Look  Sorrow  in  the  face, 

And  bid  her  freely  welcome,  unbeguil'd 
By  false  kind  solaces,  and  spells  of  earth  : — 

And  yet  not  all  unsooth'd ; 

For  when  was  Joy  so  dear, 

As  the  deep  calm  that  breath'd,  " Father,  forgive" 
Or,  "  Be  ivitli  me  in  Paradise  to-day  ?" 

And,  though  the  strife  be  sore, 

Yet  in  His  j)arting  breath 

Love  masters  Agony ;  the  soul  that  seem'd 
Forsaken,  feels  her  present  God  again, 

And  in  her  Father's  arms 

Contented  dies  away. 


WEDNESDAY  BEFORE  EASTER. 


Saying,  Father,  if  Thou  be  willing,  remove  this  cup  from  Me :  nevertheless 
not  my  will,  but  Thine,  be  done.     St.  Luke  xxii.  42. 


0  Lord  my  God,  do  Thou  Thy  holy  will — 

I  will  lie  still— 

1  will  not  stir,  lest  I  forsake  Thine  arm, 

And  break  the  charm, 
Which  lulls  me,  clinging  to  my  Father's  breast, 
In  perfect  rest. 

Wild  Fancy,  peace  !  thou  must  not  me  beguile 

With  thy  false  smile  : 
I  know  thy  flatteries  and  thy  cheating  ways ; 

Be  silent,  Praise, 
Blind  guide  with  siren  voice,  and  blinding  all 

That  hear  thy  call. 

Come,  Self-devotion,  high  and  pure, 
Thoughts  that  in  thankfulness  endure, 

(118) 


WEDNESDAY  BEFORE  EASTER.  H9 

Though  dearest  hopes  are  faithless  found, 
And  dearest  hearts  are  bursting  round. 
Come,  Resignation,  spirit  meek, 
And  let  me  kiss  thy  placid  cheek, 
And  read  in  thy  pale  eye  serene 
Their  blessing,  who  by  faith  can  wean 
Their  hearts  from  sense,  and  learn  to  love 
God  only,  and  the  joys  above. 

They  say,  who  know  the  life  divine, 

And  upward  gaze  with  eagle  eyne, 

That  by  each  golden  crown  on  high,e 

Rich  with  celestial  jewelry, 

Which  for  our  Lord's  redeem'd  is  set, 

There  hangs  a  radiant  coronet, 

All  gemm'd  with  pure  and  living  light, 

Too  dazzling  for  a  sinner's  sight, 

Prepar'd  for  virgin  souls,  and  them 

Who  seek  the  martyr's  diadem. 

Nor  deem,  who  to  that  bliss  aspire, 
Must  win  their  way  through  blood  and  fire. 
The  writhings  of  a  wounded  heart 
Are  fiercer  than  a  foeman's  dart. 

e "that  little  coronet  or  special  reward  which  God  hath  prepared 

(extraordinary  and  besides  the  great  Crown  of  all  faithful  souls)  for  those  '  who 
have  not  denied  themselves  with  women,  but  follow  the  (virgin)  Lamb  for  ever.'" 
Dp.  Taylor,  Holy  Living,  ch.  xi.  sect.  3. 


120  WEDNESDAY  BEFORE  EASTER. 

Oft  in  Life's  stillest  shade  reclining, 
In  Desolation  unrepining, 
Without  a  hope  on  earth  to  find 
A  mirror  in  an  answering  mind, 
Meek  souls  there  are,  who  little  dream 
Their  daily  strife  an  Angel's  theme, 
Or  that  the  rod  they  take  so  calm 
Shall  prove  in  Heaven  a  martyr's  palm. 

And  there  are  souls  that  seem  to  dwell 

Above  this  earth — so  rich  a  spell 

Floats  round  their  steps,  where'er  they  move, 

From  hopes  fulfill'd  and  mutual  love. 

Such,  if  on  high  their  thoughts  are  set, 

Nor  in  the  stream  the  source  forget, 

If  prompt  to  quit  the  bliss  they  know, 

Following  the  Lamb  where'er  He  go, 

By  purest  pleasures  unbeguil'd 

To  idolize  or  wife  or  child ; 

Such  wedded  souls  our  God  shall  own 

For  faultless  virgins  round  His  throne. 


Lo' 


Thus  every  where  we  find  our  suffering  God, 

And  where  He  trod, 
May  set  our  steps  :  the  Cross  on  Calvary 

Uplifted  high 


WEDNESDAY  BEFORE  EASTER.  121 

Beams  on  the  martyr  host,  a  beacon  light 
In  open  fight. 

To  the  still  wrestlings  of  the  lonely  heart 

He  doth  impart 
The  virtue  of  His  midnight  agony, 

When  none  was  nigh, 
Save  God  and  one  good  angel,  to  assuage 

The  tempest's  rage. 

Mortal !  if  life  smile  on  thee,  and  thou  find 

All  to  thy  mind, 
Think,  who  did  once  from  Heaven  to  Hell  descend 

Thee  to  befriend : 
So  shalt  thou  dare  forego,  at  His  dear  call, 

Thy  best,  thine  all. 

"  0  Father !  not  My  will,  but  Thine  be  done"— 

So  spake  the  Son. 
Be  this  our  charm,  mellowing  Earth's  ruder  noise 

Of  griefs  and  joys ; 
That  we  may  cling  for  ever  to  Thy  breast 

In  perfect  rest ! 


11 


THURSDAY  BEFORE  EASTER. 

At  the  beginning  of  thy  supplications  the  commandment  came  forth,  and  I 
am  come  to  shew  thee;  for  thou  art  greatly  beloved:  therefore,  understand  the 
matter,  and  consider  the  vision.     Daniel  ix.  23. 

"  0  holy  mountain  of  my  God, 

"  How  do  thy  towers  in  ruin  lie, 
"  How  art  thou  riven  and  strewn  abroad, 

"  Under  the  rude  and  wasteful  sky  !" 
'Twas  thus  upon  his  fasting-day 
The  "  Man  of  Loves"  was  fain  to  pray, 
His  lattice  open1"  toward  his  darling  west, 
Mourning  the  ruin'd  home  he  still  must  love  the  best. 

Oh  !  for  a  love  like  Daniel's  now, 

To  wing  to  Heaven  but  one  strong  prayer 

For  God's  new  Israel,  sunk  as  low, 
Yet  flourishing  to  sight  as  fair, 


»  Daniel  vi.  10. 

(122) 


THURSDAY  BEFORE  EASTER. 


123 


As  Sion  in  her  height  of  pride, 
With  queens  for  handmaids  at  her  side, 
With  kings  her  nursing-fathers,  throned  high, 
And  compass'd  with  the  world's  too  tempting  bla- 
zonry. 

'Tis  true,  nor  winter  stays  thy  growth, 
Nor  torrid  summer's  sickly  smile ; 

The  flashing  billows  of  the  south 
Break  not  upon  so  lone  an  isle, 

But  thou,  rich  vine,  art  grafted  there, 

The  fruit  of  death  or  life  to  bear, 

Yielding  a  surer  witness  every  day, 
To  thine  Almighty  Author  and  His  stedfast  sway. 

Oh  !  grief  to  think,  that  grapes  of  gall 

Should  cluster  round  thine  healthiest  shoot ! 
God's  herald  prove  a  heartless  thrall, 

Who,  if  he  dar'd,  would  fain  be  mute ! 
Even  such  is  this  bad  world  we  see, 
Which  self-condemn'd  in  owning  Thee, 
Yet  dares  not  open  farewell  of  Thee  take, 
For  very  pride,  and  her  high-boasted  Reason  s  sake. 

What  do  we  then  ?  if  far  and  wide 

Men  kneel  to  Christ,  the  pure  and  meek, 

Yet  rage  with  passion,  swell  with  pride, 
Have  we  not  still  our  faith  to  seek  ? 


124  THURSDAY  BEFORE  EASTER. 


Nay — but  in  stedfast  humbleness 
Kneel  on  to  Him,  who  loves  to  bless 
The  prayer  that  waits  for  Him ;  and  trembling 
strive 
To  keep  the  lingering  flame  in  thine  own  breast 
alive. 

Dark  frown'd  the  future  even  on  him, 

The  loving  and  beloved  Seer, 
What  time  he  saw,  through  shadows  dim, 

The  boundary  of  th'  eternal  year ; 
He  only  of  the  sons  of  men 
Nam'd  to  be  heir  of  glory  then.8 
Else  had  it  bruis'd  too  sore  his  tender  heart 
To  see  God's  ransom'd  world  in  wrath  and  flame 
depart. 

Then  look  no  more  :  or  closer  watch 

Thy  course  in  earth's  bewildering  ways, 
For  every  glimpse  thine  eye  can  catch 

Of  what  shall  be  in  those  dread  days : 
So  when  th'  Archangel's  word  is  spoken, 
And  Death's  deep  trance  for  ever  broken, 
In  mercy  thou  mayst  feel  the  heavenly  hand, 
And  in  thy  lot  unharm'd  before  thy  Saviour  stand.11 

s  Daniel  xii.  13.     See  Bp.  Kenn's  Sermon  on  the  character  of  Daniel. 
h  Thou  shalt  rest,  and  stand  in  thy  lot  at  the  end  of  tho  days. 

Daniel  xii.  13. 


GOOD  FRIDAY. 

He  is  despised  and  rejected  of  men.     Isaiah  liii.  3. 

Is  it  not  strange,  the  darkest  hour 

That  ever  dawn'd  on  sinful  earth 
Should  touch  the  heart  with  softer  power 
For  comfort,  than  an  Angel's  mirth  ? 
That  to  the  Cross  the  mourner's  eye  should  turn 
Sooner  than  where  the  stars  of  Christmas  burn  ? 

Sooner  than  where  the  Easter  sun 

Shines  glorious  on  yon  open  grave, 
And  to  and  fro  the  tidings  run, 

"  Who  died  to  heal,  is  ris'n  to  save  ?" 
Sooner  than  where  upon  the  Saviour's  friends 
The  very  Comforter  in  light  and  love  descends  ? 

Yet  so  it  is :  for  duly  there 

The  bitter  herbs  of  earth  are  set, 
Till  temper'd  by  the  Saviour's  prayer, 
And  with  the  Saviour's  life-blood  wet, 
They  turn  to  sweetness,  and  drop  holy  balm, 
Soft  as  imprison'd  martyr's  deathbed  calm. 

11  *  (125) 


126  GOOD  FRIDAY. 


All  turn  to  sweet — but  most  of  all 

That  bitterest  to  the  lip  of  pride, 
When  hopes  presumptuous  fade  and  fall, 
Or  Friendship  scorns  us,  duly  tried, 
Or  Love,  the  flower  that  closes  up  for  fear 
When  rude  and  selfish  spirits  breathe  too  near. 

Then  like  a  long-forgotten  strain 

Comes  sweeping  o'er  the  heart  forlorn 
What  sunshine  hours  had  taught  in  vain 
Of  Jesus  suffering  shame  and  scorn, 
As  in  all  lowly  hearts  He  suffers  still, 
While  we  triumphant  ride  and  have  the  world  at  will. 

His  pierced  hands  in  vain  would  hide 
His  face  from  rude  reproachful  gaze, 
His  ears  are  open  to  abide 

The  wildest  storm  the  tongue  can  raise, 
He  who  with  one  rough  word,1  some  early  day, 
Their  idol  world  and  them  shall  sweep  for  aye  away. 

But  we  by  Fancy  may  assuage 

The  festering  sore  by  Fancy  made, 

Down  in  some  lonely  hermitage 
Like  wounded  pilgrims  safely  laid, 

i  Wisdom  of  Solomon  xii.  9. 


GOOD  FRIDAY.  127 


"Where  gentlest  breezes  whisper  souls  distress'd, 
That  love  yet  lives,  and  Patience  shall  find  rest. 

0  !   shame  beyond  the  bitterest  thought 

That  evil  spirit  ever  fram'd, 
That  sinners  know  what  Jesus  wrought, 
Yet  feel  their  haughty  hearts  untam'd — 
That  souls  in  refuge,  holding  by  the  Cross, 
Should  wince  and  fret  at  this  world's  little  loss. 

Lord  of  my  heart,  by  Thy  last  cry, 

Let  not  Thy  blood  on  earth  be  spent — 
Lo,  at  Thy  feet  I  fainting  lie, 

Mine  eyes  upon  Thy  wounds  are  bent, 
Upon  Thy  streaming  wounds  my  weary  eyes 
Wait  like  the  parched  earth  on  April  skies. 

Wash  me,  and  dry  these  bitter  tears, 

0  let  my  heart  no  further  roam, 
'Tis  Thine  by  vows,  and  hopes,  and  fears, 
Long  since — 0  call  Thy  wanderer  home ; 
To  that  dear  home,  safe  in  Thy  wounded  side, 
Where  only  broken  hearts  their  sin  and  shame  may 
hide. 


EASTER  EVE. 


As  for  thee  also,  by  the  blood  of  thy  covenant  I  have  sent  forth  thy  prisoners, 
out  of  the  pit  wherein  is  no  water.     Zechariah  ix.  11. 


At  length  the  worst  is  o'er,  and  thou  art  laid 

Deep  in  Thy  darksome  bed  ; 
All  still  and  cold  beneath  yon  dreary  stone 

Thy  sacred  form  is  gone  ; 
Around  those  lips  where  power  and  mercy  hung, 

The  dews  of  death  have  clung ; 
The  dull  earth  o'er  Thee,  and  Thy  foes  around, 
Thou  sleep'st  a  silent  corse,  in  funeral  fetters  wound. 

Sleep'st  Thou  indeed  ?  or  is  Thy  spirit  fled, 

At  large  among  the  dead  ? 
Whether  in  Eden  bowers  Thy  welcome  voice 

"Wake  Abraham  to  rejoice, 
Or  in  some  drearier  scene  Thine  eye  controls 

The  thronging  band  of  souls ; 
That,  as  Thy  blood  won  earth,  Thine  agony 
Might  set  the  shadowy  realm  from  sin  and  sorrow 

free. 

(128) 


EASTER  EVE.  129 


Where'er  Thou  roam'st,  one  happy  soul,  we  know, 

Seen  at  Thy  side  in  woe,k 
Waits  on  Thy  triumph — even  as  all  the  blest 

With  him  and  Thee  shall  rest. 
Each  on  his  cross,  by  Thee  we  hang  a  while, 

Watching  Thy  patient  smile, 
Till  we  have  learn'd  to  say,  "'Tis  justly  done, 
Only  in  glory,  Lord,  Thy  sinful  servant  own." 

Soon  wilt  Thou  take  us  to  Thy  tranquil  bower 

To  rest  one  little  hour, 
Till  Thine  elect  are  number'd,  and  the  grave 

Call  Thee  to  come  and  save  : 
Then  on  Thy  bosom  borne  shall  we  descend, 

Again  with  earth  to  blend, 
Earth  all  refin'd  with  bright  supernal  fires, 
Tinctur'd  with  holy  blood,  and  wing'd  with  pure 
desires. 

Meanwhile  with  every  son  and  saint  of  Thine 

Along  the  glorious  line, 
Sitting  by  turns  beneath  Thy  sacred  feet 

We'll  hold  communion  sweet, 
Know  them  by  look  and  voice,  and  thank  them  all 

For  helping  us  in  thrall, 
For  words  of  hope,  and  bright  examples  given 
To  shew  through  moonless  skies  that  there  is  light 
in  Heaven. 


k  St.  Luke  xxiii.  43. 


130  EASTER  EVE. 


0  come  that  clay,  when  in  this  restless  heart 

Earth  shall  resign  her  part, 
When  in  the  grave  with  Thee  my  limbs  shall  rest, 

My  soul  with  Thee  be  blest ! 
But  stay,  presumptuous — Christ  with  thee  abides 

In  the  rock's  dreary  sides : 
He  from  the  stone  will  wring  celestial  dew 
If  but  the  prisoner's  heart  be  faithful  found  and  true. 

When  tears  are  spent,  and  thou  art  left  alone 
With  ghosts  of  blessings  gone, 

Think  thou  art  taken  from  the  cross,  and  laid 
In  Jesus'  burial  shade  ; 

Take  Moses'  rod,  the  rod  of  prayer,  and  call 
Out  of  the  rocky  wall 

The  fount  of  holy  blood ;  and  lift  on  high 
Thy  grovelling  soul  that  feels  so  desolate  and  dry. 

Prisoner  of  Hope  thou  art1 — look  up  and  sing 

In  hope  of  promis'd  spring. 
As  in  the  pit  his  father's  darling  laym 

Beside  the  desert  way, 
And  knew  not  how,  but  knew  his  God  would  save 

Even  from  that  living  grave, 
So,  buried  with  our  Lord,  we'll  close  our  eyes 
To  the  decaying  world,  till  Angels  bid  us  rise. 

1  Turn  you  to  the  strong  hold,  ye  prisoners  of  hope.     Zechariah  ix.  12. 
m  They  took  him,  and  cast  him  into  a  pit:  and  the  pit  was  empty,  there  was 
no  water  in  it.     Genesis  xxxvii.  24. 


EASTER   DAY. 


And  as  they  were  afraid,  and  bowed  down  their  faces  to  the  earth,  they  said 
unto  them,  Why  seek  ye  the  living  among  the  dead  ?  He  is  not  here,  but  is 
risen.     St.  Luke  xxiv.  5,  6. 


Oh  !  day  of  days !  shall  hearts  set  free 
No  "  Minstrel  rapture"  find  for  thee  ? 
Thou  art  the  Sun  of  other  days, 
They  shine  by  giving  back  thy  rays : 

Enthroned  in  thy  sovereign  sphere 
Thou  shedd'st  thy  light  on  all  the  year : 
Sundays  by  thee  more  glorious  break, 
An  Easter  Day  in  every  week : 

And  week-days,  following  in  their  train, 
The  fulness  of  thy  blessing  gain, 
Till  all,  both  resting  and  employ, 
Be  one  Lord's  day  of  holy  joy. 

Then  wake,  my  soul,  to  high  desires, 
And  earlier  light  thine  altar  fires  : 
The  World  some  hours  is  on  her  way, 
Nor  thinks  on  thee,  thou  blessed  day  : 

(131) 


Or,  if  she  think,  it  is  in  scorn  : 
The  vernal  light  of  Easter  morn 
To  her  dark  gaze  no  brighter  seems 
Than  Reason's  or  the  Law's  pale  beams. 

"  Where  is  your  Lord  ?"  she  scornful  asks  : 
"  Where  is  His  hire  ?  we  know  his  tasks ; 
"  Sons  of  a  King  ye  boast  to  be ; 
"  Let  us  your  crowns  and  treasures  see." 

We  in  the  words  of  Truth  reply, 
(An  angel  brought  them  from  the  sky,) 
"  Our  crown,  our  treasure  is  not  here, 
"  'Tis  stor'd  above  the  highest  sphere : 

"  Methinks  your  wisdom  guides  amiss, 
"  To  seek  on  earth  a  Christian's  bliss ; 
"  We  watch  not  now  the  lifeless  stone ; 
"  Our  only  Lord  is  risen  and  gone." 

Yet  even  the  lifeless  stone  is  dear 
For  thoughts  of  Him  who  late  lay  here ; 
And  the  base  world,  now  Christ  hath  died, 
Ennobled  is  and  glorified. 

No  more  a  charnel-house,  to  fence 
The  relics  of  lost  innocence, 
A  vault  of  ruin  and  decay  ; — 
Th'  imprisoning  stone  is  roll'd  away : 


EASTER  DAY.  133 


'Tis  now  a  cell,  where  angels  use 
To  come  and  go  with  heavenly  news, 
And  in  the  ears  of  mourners  say, 
"  Come,  see  the  place  where  Jesus  lay:" 

'Tis  now  a  fane,  where  Love  can  find 
Christ  every  where  embalm'd  and  shrin'd  : 
Aye  gathering  up  memorials  sweet, 
Where'er  she  sets  her  duteous  feet. 

Oh  !  joy  to  Mary  first  allow'd, 
When  rous'd  from  weeping  o'er  His  shroud, 
By  His  own  calm,  soul-soothing  tone, 
Breathing  her  name,  as  still  His  own ! 

Joy  to  the  faithful  Three  renew'd, 
As  their  glad  errand  they  pursued ! 
Happy,  who  so  Christ's  word  convey, 
That  He  may  meet  them  on  their  way ! 

So  is  it  still :  to  holy  tears, 
In  lonely  hours,  Christ  risen  appears  : 
In  social  hours,  who  Christ  would  see, 
Must  turn  all  tasks  to  Charity. 


12 


MONDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK. 

Of  a  truth  I  perceive  that  God  is  no  respecter  of  persons :  but  in  every 
nation  he  that  feareth  Him,  and  worketh  righteousness,  is  accepted  with  Him. 

Acts  x.  34,  35. 

Go  up  and  watch  the  new-born  rill 
Just  trickling  from  its  mossy  bed, 
Streaking  the  heath-clad  hill 
With  a  bright  emerald  thread. 

Canst  thou  her  bold  career  foretell, 
What  rocks  she  shall  o'erleap  or  rend, 
How  far  in  Ocean's  swell 

Her  freshening  billows  send  ? 

Perchance  that  little  brook  shall  flow 
The  bulwark  of  some  mighty  realm, 
Bear  navies  to  and  fro 

With  monarchs  at  their  helm. 

(134) 


MONDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK.  135 

Or  canst  thou  guess,  how  far  away 
Some  sister  nymph,  beside  her  urn 
Reclining  night  and  day, 

'Mid  reeds  and  mountain  fern, 

Nurses  her  store,  with  thine  to  blend 
When  many  a  moor  and  glen  are  past, 
Then  in  the  wide  sea  end 
Their  spotless  lives  at  last  ? 

Even  so,  the  course  of  prayer  who  knows  ? 
It  springs  in  silence  where  it  will, 
Springs  out  of  sight,  and  flows 
At  first  a  lonely  rill : 

But  streams  shall  meet  it  by  and  by 
From  thousand  sympathetic  hearts, 
Together  swelling  high 

Their  chant  of  many  parts. 

Unheard  by  all  but  angel  ears 
The  good  Cornelius  knelt  alone, 
Nor  dream'd  his  prayers  and  tears 
Would  help  a  world  undone. 

The  while  upon  his  terrac'd  roof 
The  lov'd  apostle  to  his  Lord 
In  silent  thought  aloof 

For  heavenly  vision  soar'd. 


136  MONDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK. 

Far  o'er  the  glowing  western  main 
His  wistful  brow  was  upward  rais'd, 
Where,  like  an  angel's  train, 
The  burnish'd-  water  blaz'd. 

The  saint  beside  the  ocean  pray'd, 
The  soldier  in  his  chosen  bower, 
Where  all  his  eye  survey'd 
Seem'd  sacred  in  that  hour. 

To  each  unknown  his  brother's  prayer, 
Yet  brethren  true  in  dearest  love 
Were  they — and  now  they  share 
Fraternal  joys  above. 

There  daily  through  Christ's  open  gate 
They  see  the  Gentile  spirits  press, 
Brightening  their  high  estate 
With  dearer  happiness. 

What  civic  wreath  for  comrades  sav'd 
Shone  ever  with  such  deathless  gleam, 
Or  when  did  perils  brav'd 
So  sweet  to  veterans  seem? 


TUESDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK. 


And  they  departed  quickly  from  the  sepulchre  with  fear  and  great  joy;  and 
did  run  to  bring  His  disciples  word.      St.  Matthew  xxviii.  8. 


TO   THE    SNOW-DROP. 

Thou  first-born  of  the  year's  delight, 

Pride  of  the  dewy  glade, 
In  vernal  green  and  virgin  white, 

Thy  vestal  robes,  array'd : 

'Tis  not  because  thy  drooping  form 

Sinks  graceful  on  its  nest, 
When  chilly  shades  from  gathering  storm 

Affright  thy  tender  breast ; 

Nor  for  yon  river  islet  wild 

Beneath  the  willow  spray, 
Where,  like  the  ringlets  of  a  child, 

Thou  weav'st  thy  circle  gay ; 
12  *  (137) 


138  TUESDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK. 

'Tis  not  for  these  I  love  thee  dear — 

Thy  shy  averted  smiles 
To  Fancy  bode  a  joyous  year, 

One  of  Life's  fairy  isles. 

They  twinkle  to  the  wintry  moon, 

And  cheer  th'  ungenial  day, 
And  tell  us,  all  will  glisten  soon 

As  green  and  bright  as  they. 

Is  there  a  heart,  that  loves  the  spring 

Their  witness  can  refuse  ? 
Yet  mortals  doubt,  when  angels  bring 

From  Heaven  their  Easter  news : 

When  holy  maids  and  matrons  speak 

Of  Christ's  forsaken  bed, 
And  voices,  that  forbid  to  seek 

The  living  'mid  the  dead, 

And  when  they  say,  "  Turn,  wandering  heart, 

"  Thy  Lord  is  ris'n  indeed, 
"  Let  pleasure  go,  put  Care  apart, 

"  And  to  His  presence  speed ;" 

We  smile  in  scorn :  and  yet  we  know 

They  early  sought  the  tomb, 
Their  hearts,  that  now  so  freshly  glow, 

Lost  in  desponding  gloom. 


TUESDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK.  139 


They  who  have  sought,  nor  hope  to  find, 
Wear  not  so  bright  a  glance  : 

They,  who  have  won  their  earthly  mind, 
Less  reverently  advance. 

But  where,  in  gentle  spirits,  fear 

And  joy  so  duly  meet, 
These  sure  have  seen  the  angels  near, 

And  kiss'd  the  Saviour's  feet. 

Nor  let  the  Pastor's  thankful  eye 
Their  faltering  tale  disdain, 

As  on  their  lowly  couch  they  lie, 
Prisoners  of  want  and  pain. 

0  guide  us,  when  our  faithless  hearts 
From  Thee  would  start  aloof, 

Where  Patience  her  sweet  skill  imparts 
Beneath  some  cottage  roof: 

Revive  our  dying  fires,  to  burn 

High  as  her  anthems  soar, 
And  of  our  scholars  let  us  learn 

Our  own  forgotten  lore. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER. 

Seemeth   it  but  a  small   thing   unto  you,  that  tho   God   of  Israel   hath 
separated  you  from  the  congregation  of  Israel,  to  bring  you  near  to  Himself? 

Numbers  xvi.  9. 

First  Father  of  the  holy  seed, 
If  yet,  invok'd  in  hour  of  need 

Thou  count  me  for  Thine  own, 
Not  quite  an  outcast  if  I  prove, 
(Thou  joy'st  in  miracles  of  love,) 

Hear,  from  Thy  mercy-throne  ! 

Upon  Thine  altar's  horn  of  gold 
Help  me  to  lay  my  trembling  hold, 

Though  stain'd  with  Christian  gore  ;-— 
The  blood  of  souls  by  Thee  redeem'd, 
But,  while  I  rov'd  or  idly  dream'd, 

Lost  to  be  found  no  more. 

(140) 


For  oft,  when  summer  leaves  were  bright, 
And  every  flower  was  bathed  in  light, 

In  sunshine  moments  past, 
My  wilful  heart  would  burst  away 
From  where  the  holy  shadow  lay, 

Where  Heaven  my  lot  had  cast. 

I  thought  it  scorn  with  Thee  to  dwell, 
A  Hermit  in  a  silent  cell, 

While,  gaily  sweeping  by, 
Wild  Fancy  blew  his  bugle  strain, 
And  marshall'd  all  his  gallant  train 

In  the  world's  wondering  eye. 

I  would  have  join'd  him — but  as  oft 
Thy  whisper'd  warnings,  kind  and  soft, 

My  better  soul  confess'd. 
"  My  servant,  let  the  world  alone — 
"  Safe  on  the  steps  of  Jesus'  throne 

"  Be  tranquil  and  be  blest. 

"  Seems  it  to  thee  a  niggard  hand 

"  That  nearest  Heaven  has  bade  thee  stand, 

"  The  ark  to  touch  and  bear, 
"With  incense  of  pure  heart's  desire 
"  To  heap  the  censer's  sacred  fire, 

"  The  snow-white  Ephod  wear  ?" 


142  FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER. 

Why  should  we  crave  the  worldling's  wreath, 
On  whom  the  Saviour  deign'd  to  breathe, 

To  whom  His  keys  were  given, 
Who  lead  the  choir  where  angels  meet, 
With  angels'  food  our  brethren  greet, 

And  pdur  the  drink  of  Heaven  ? 

When  sorrow  all  our  heart  would  ask, 
We  need  not  shun  our  daily  task, 

And  hide  ourselves  for  calm ; 
The  herbs  we  seek  to  heal  our  woe 
Familiar  by  our  pathway  grow, 

Our  common  air  is  balm. 

Around  each  pure  domestic  shrine 
Bright  flowers  of  Eden  bloom  and  twine, 

Our  hearths  are  altars  all ; 
The  prayers  of  hungry  souls  and  poor, 
Like  armed  angels  at  the  door, 

Our  unseen  foes  appal. 

Alms  all  around  and  hymns  within — 
What  evil  eye  can  entrance  win 

Where  guards  like  these  abound? 
If  chance  some  heedless  heart  should  roam, 
Sure,  thought  of  these  will  lure  it  home 

Ere  lost  in  Folly's  round. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER. 


143 


0  joys,  that  sweetest  in  decay, 
Fall  not,  like  wither'd  leaves,  away, 

But  with  the  silent  breath 
Of  violets  drooping  one  by  one, 
Soon  as  their  fragrant  task  is  done, 

Are  wafted  high  in  death ! 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER. 


Ho  hath  said,  which  heard  the  words  of  God,  and  knew  the  knowledge  of 
the  Most  High,  which  saw  the  vision  of  the  Almighty,  falling  into  a  trance, 
but  having  his  eyes  open:  I  shall  see  Him,  but  not  now  :  I  shall  behold  Him, 
but  not  nigh :  there  shall  come  a  Star  out  of  Jacob,  and  a  Sceptre  shall  rise 
out  of  Israel,  and  shall  smite  the  corners  of  Moab,  and  destroy  all  the  children 
of  Sheth.     Numbers  xxiv.  16,  17. 


0  for  a  sculptor's  hand, 

That  thou  might'st  take  thy  stand, 
Thy  wild  hair  floating  on  the  eastern  breeze, 

Thy  tranc'd  yet  open  gaze 

Fix'd  on  the  desert  haze, 
As  one  who  deep  in  heaven  some  airy  pageant  sees. 

In  outline  dim  and  vast 

Their  fearful  shadows  cast 
The  giant  forms  of  empires  on  their  way 

To  ruin :  one  by  one 

They  tower  and  they  are  gone, 
Yet  in  the  Prophet's  soul  the  dreams  of  avarice  stay. 

(144) 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER.  145 


No  sun  or  star  so  bright 

In  all  the  world  of  light 
That  they  should  draw  to  Heaven  his  downward  eye : 

He  hears  th'  Almighty's  word, 

He  sees  the  Angel's  sword, 
Yet  low  upon  the  earth  his  heart  and  treasure  lie. 

Lo  !  from  yon  argent  field, 

To  him  and  us  reveal'd, 
One  gentle  Star  glides  down,  on  earth  to  dwell. 

Chain'd  as  they  are  below 

Our  eyes  may  see  it  glow, 
And  as  it  mounts  again,  may  track  its  brightness  well. 

To  him  it  glar'd  afar, 

A  token  of  wild  war, 
The  banner  of  his  Lord's  victorious  wrath  : 

But  close  to  us  it  gleams, 

Its  soothing  lustre  streams 
Around  our  home's  green  walls,  and  on  our  church- 
way  path. 

We  in  the  tents  abide 

Which  he  at  distance  eyed 
Like  goodly  cedars  by  the  waters  spread, 

While  seven  red  altar-fires 

Rose  up  in  wavy  spires, 
Where  on  the  mount  he  watch'd  his  sorceries  dark 
and  dread. 


13 


146  SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER. 

He  watch'd  till  morning's  ray 

On  lake  and  meadow  lay, 
And  willow-shaded  streams,  that  silent  sweep 

Around  the  banner'd  lines, 

Where  by  their  several  signs 
The  desert-wearied  tribes  in  sight  of  Canaan  sleep. 

He  watch'd  till  knowledge  came 

Upon  his  soul  like  flame, 
Not  of  those  magic  fires  at  random  caught : 

But  true  prophetic  light 

Flash'd  o'er  him,  high  and  bright, 
Flash'd  once,  and  died  away,  and  left  his  darken'd 
thought. 

And  can  he  choose  but  fear, 

Who  feels  his  God  so  near, 
That  when  he  fain  would  curse,  his  powerless  tongue 

In  blessing  only  moves  ? — 

Alas  !  the  world  he  loves 
Too  close  around  his  heart  her  tangling  veil  hath 
flung. 

Sceptre  and  Star  divine, 

Who  in  Thine  inmost  shrine 
Hast  made  us  worshippers,  0  claim  Thine  own ; 

More  than  Thy  seers  we  know — 

0  teach  our  love  to  grow 
Up  to   Thy  heavenly  light,  and  reap  what  Thou 
hast  sown. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER. 


A  woman  when  she  is  in  travail  hath  sorrow,  because  her  hour  is  come  : 
but  as  soon  as  she  is  delivered  of  the  child,  she  remembereth  no  more  the 
anguish,  for  joy  that  a  man  is  born  into  the  world.  St.  John  xvi.  21. 


Well  may  I  guess  and  feel 
Why  Autumn  should  be  sad  ; 
But  vernal  airs  should  sorrow  heal, 
Spring  should  be  gay  and  glad : 
Yet  as  along  this  violet  bank  I  rove, 

The   languid   sweetness   seems  to  choke   my 
breath, 
I  sit  me  down  beside  the  hazel  grove, 
And  sigh,  and  half  could  wish  my  weariness  were 
death. 


Like  a  bright  veering  cloud 
Grey  blossoms  twinkle  there, 
Warbles  around  a  busy  crowd 
Of  larks  in  purest  air. 
Shame  on  the  heart  that  dreams  of  blessings  gone, 
Or  wakes  the  spectral  forms  of  woe  and  crime, 
When  nature  sings  of  joy  and  hope  alone, 
Reading  her  cheerful  lesson  in  her  own  sweet  time. 

(147) 


Nor  let  the  proud  heart  say, 
In  her.  self-torturing  hour, 
The  travail  pangs  must  have  their  way, 
The  aching  brow  must  lower. 
To  us  long  since  the  glorious  Child  is  born, 
Our  throes  should  be  forgot,  or  only  seem 
Like  a  sad  vision  told  for  joy  at  morn, 
For  joy  that  we  have  wak'd  and  found  it  but  a  dream. 

Mysterious  to  all  thought 
A  mother's  prime  of  bliss, 
When  to  her  eager  lips  is  brought 
Her  infant's  thrilling  kiss. 
0  never  shall  it  set,  the  sacred  light 

Which  dawns  that  moment  on  her  tender  gaze, 
In  the  eternal  distance  blending  bright 
Her  darling's  hope  and  hers,  for  love  and  joy  and 
praise. 

• 

No  need  for  her  to  weep 

Like  Thracian  wives  of  yore, 
Save  when  in  rapture  still  and  deep 
Her  thankful  heart  runs  o'er. 
They  mourn'd  to  trust  their  treasure  on  the  main, 
Sure  of  the  storm,  unknowing  of  their  guide : 
Welcome  to  her  the  peril  and  the  pain, 
For  well   she  knows   the   home  where   they  may 
safely  hide. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER.  149 


She  joys  that  one  is  born 
Into  a  world  forgiven, 
Her  Father's  household  to  adorn, 
And  dwell  with  her  in  Heaven. 
So  have  I  seen,  in  Spring's  bewitching  hour, 

When  the  glad  earth  is  offering  all  her  best, 

Some  gentle  maid  bend  o'er  a  cherish'd  flower, 

And  wish  it  worthier  on  a  Parent's  heart  to  rest. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER. 


Nevertheless  I  tell  you  the  truth :  It  is  expedient  for  you  that  I  go  away  :  for 
if  I  go  not  away,  the  Comforter  will  not  come  unto  you  :  but  if  I  depart,  I  will 
send  Him  unto  you.     St.  John  xvi.  7. 


My  Saviour,  can  it  ever  be 
That  I  should  gain  by  losing  Thee  ? 
The  watchful  mother  tarries  nigh 
Though  sleep  have  clos'd  her  infant's  eye ; 
For  should  he  wake,  and  find  her  gone, 
She  knows  she  could  not  bear  his  moan. 
But  I  am  weaker  than  a  child, 

And  Thou  art  more  than  mother  dear ; 
Without  Thee  Heaven  were  but  a  wild  : 

How  can  I  live  without  Thee  here ! 

"  'Tis  good  for  you,  that  I  should  go, 
"  You  lingering  yet  awhile  below  ;" — 
'Tis  Thine  own  gracious  promise,  Lord ! 
Thy  saints  have  prov'd  the  faithful  word, 

(150) 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER.  151 


When  Heaven's  bright  boundless  avenue 

Far  open'd  on  their  eager  view, 

And  homeward  to  Thy  Father's  throne, 

Still  lessening,  brightening  on  their  sight, 
Thy  shadowy  car  went  soaring  on; 

They  track'd  Thee  up  th'  abyss  of  light. 

Thou  bidd'st  rejoice  ;  they  dare  not  mourn, 
But  to  their  home  in  gladness  turn, 
Their  home  and  God's,  that  favour'd  place, 
Where  still  He  shines  on  Abraham's  race, 
In  prayers  and  blessings  there  to  wait 
Like  suppliants  at  their  Monarch's  gate, 
Who  bent  with  bounty  rare  to  aid 

The  splendours  of  His  crowning  day, 
Keeps  back  awhile  His  largess,  made 

More  welcome  for  that  brief  delay: 

In  doubt  they  wait,  but  not  unblest; 
They  doubt  uot  of  their  Master's  rest, 
Nor  of  the  gracious  will  of  Heaven — 
Who  gave  His  Son,  sure  all  has  given — 
But  in  ecstatic  awe  they  muse 
What  course  the  genial  stream  may  choose, 
And  far  and  wide  their  fancies  rove, 

And  to  their  height  of  wonder  strain, 
What  secret  miracle  of  love 

Should  make  their  Saviour's  going  gain. 


152                      FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER. 

„ 

The  days  of  hope  and  prayer  are  past, 

The  day  of  comfort  dawns  at  last, 

The  everlasting  gates  again 

Roll  back,  and,  lo  !  a  royal  train — 

From  the  far  depth  of  light  once  more 

The  floods  of  glory  earth-ward  pour : 

They  part  like  shower-drops  in  mid  air, 

But  ne'er    so  soft  fell  noon-tide  shower, 

Nor  evening  rainbow  gleam'd  so  fair 

To  weary  swains  in  parched  bower. 

Swiftly  and  straight  each  tongue  of  flame 

Through  cloud  and  breeze  unwavering  came, 

And  darted  to  its  place  of  rest 

On  some  meek  brow  of  Jesus  blest. 

Nor  fades  it  yet,  that  living  gleam, 

And  still  those  lambent  lightnings  stream ; 

Where'er  the  Lord  is,  there  are  they ; 

In  every  heart  that  gives  them  room, 

• 

They  light  His  altar  every  day, 

Zeal  to  inflame,  and  vice  consume. 

Soft  as  the  plumes  of  Jesus'  Dove 

They  nurse  the  soul  to  heavenly  love  : 

The  struggling  spark  of  good  within, 

Just  smother'd  in  the  strife  of  sin, 

They  quicken  to  a  timely  glow, 

The  pure  flame  spreading  high  and  low. 

FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER.         153 


Said  I,  that  prayer  and  hope  were  o'er  ? 

Nay,  blessed  Spirit !  but  by  Thee 
The  Church's  prayer  finds  wings  to  soar, 

The  Church's  hope  finds  eyes  to  see. 

Then,  fainting  soul,  arise  and  sing ; 
Mount,  but  be  sober  on  the  wing ; 
Mount  up,  for  Heaven  is  won  by  prayer, 
Be  sober,  for  thou  art  not  there ; 
Till  Death  the  weary  spirit  free, 
Thy  God  hath  said,  'Tis  good  for  thee 
To  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight : 

Take  it  on  trust  a  little  while ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  read  the  mystery  right 

In  the  full  sunshine  of  His  smile. 

Or  if  thou  yet  more  knowledge  crave, 
Ask  thine  own  heart,  that  willing  slave 
To  all  that  works  thee  woe  or  harm  : 
Should'st  thou  not  need  some  mighty  charm 
To  win  thee  to  thy  Saviour's  side, 
Though  He  had  deign'd  with  thee  to  bide  ? 
The  Spirit  must  stir  the  darkling  deep 

The  Dove  must  settle  on  the  Cross, 
Else  we  should  all  sin  on  or  sleep 

With  Christ  in  sight,  turning  our  gain  to  loss. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER. 


ROGATION  SUNDAY, 


And  the  Lord  was  very  angry  with  Aaron  to  have  destroyed  him  :  and  I 
prayed  for  Aaron  also  the  same  time.     Dent.  ix.  20. 


Now  is  there  solemn  pause  in  earth  and  heaven ; 
The  Conqueror  now 
His  bonds  hath  riven, 
And  angels  wonder  why  He  stays  below  : 
Yet  hath  not  man  his  lesson  learn'd, 
How  endless  love  should  be  return'd. 

Deep  is  the  silence  as  of  summer  noon, 
When  a  soft  shower 
Will  trickle  soon, 
A  gracious  rain,  freshening  the  weary  bower — 
0  sweetly  then  far  off  is  heard 
The  clear  note  of  some  lonely  bird. 

(154) 


So  let  Thy  turtle  dove's  sad  call  arise 
In  doubt  and  fear 
Through  darkening  skies, 
And  pierce,  0  Lord,  Thy  justly-sealed  ear, 
Where  on  the  house-top,"  all  night  long, 
She  trills  her  widow'd,  faltering  song. 

Teach  her  to  know  and  love  her  hour  of  prayer, 
And  evermore, 
As  faith  grows  rare, 
Unlock  her  heart,  and  offer  all  its  store 
In  holier  love  and  humbler  vows, 
As  suits  a  lost  returning  spouse. 

Not  as  at  first,0  but  with  intenser  cry, 
Upon  the  mount 
She  now  must  lie, 
Till  Thy  dear  love  to  blot  the  sad  account 
Of  her  rebellious  race  be  won, 
Pitying  the  mother  in  the  son. 

But  chiefly  (for  she  knows  Thee  anger'd  worst 

By  holiest  things 

Profan'd  and  curst), 
Chiefly  for  Aaron's  seed  she  spreads  her  wings, 

n  Psalm  cii.  7. 

0  I  fell  down  before  the  Lord  forty  days  and  forty  nights,  as  I  fell  down  at 
the  first.     Deuteronomy  ix.  25. 


If  but  one  leaf  she  may  from  Thee 
Win  of  the  reconciling  tree. 

For  what  shall  heal,  when  holy  water  banes  ? 
Or  who  may  guide 
O'er  desert  plains 
Thy  lov'd  yet  sinful  people  wandering  wide, 
If  Aaron's  hand  unshrinking  mould1' 
An  idol  form  of  earthly  gold  ? 

Therefore  her  tears  are  bitter,  and  as  deep 
Her  boding  sigh, 
As,  while  men  sleep, 
Sad-hearted  mothers  heave,  that  wakeful  lie, 
To  muse  upon  some  darling  child 
Koaming  in  youth's  uncertain  wild. 

Therefore  on  fearful  dreams  her  inward  sight 
Is  fain  to  dwell — 
What  lurid  light 
Shall  the  last  darkness  of  the  world  dispel, 
The  Mediator  in  His  wrath 
Descending  down  the  lightning's  path. 

Yet,  yet  awhile,  offended  Saviour,  pause, 

In  act  to  breakq 

Thine  outrag'd  laws, 
0  spare  Thy  rebels  for  Thine  own  dear  sake; 

v  Exodus  xxxii.  4.  q  Exodus  xxxii.  19. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER.  157 


Withdraw  Thine  hand,  nor  dash  to  earth 
The  covenant  of  our  second  birth. 

'Tis  forfeit  like  the  first — we  own  it  all — 
Yet  for  love's  sake 
Let  it  not  fall ; 
But  at  Thy  touch  let  veiled  hearts  awake, 
That  nearest  to  Thine  altar  lie, 
Yet  least  of  holy  things  descry. 

Teacher  of  teachers !  Priest  of  priests !  from  Thee 
The  sweet  strong  prayer 
Must  rise,  to  free 
First  Levi,  then  all  Israel,  from  the  snare. 
Thou  art  our  Moses  out  of  sight — 
Speak  for  us,  or  we  perish  quite. 


14 


L 


ASCENSION  DAY. 


Why  stand  ye  gazing  up  into  Heaven?  This  same  Jesus,  which  is  taken 
up  from  you  into  Heaven,  shall  so  come  in  like  manner  as  ye  have  seen  Him 
go  into  Heaven.     Acts  i.  11. 


Soft  cloud,  that  while  the  breeze  of  May 
Chants  her  glad  matins  in  the  leafy  arch, 

Draw'st  thy  bright  veil  across  the  heavenly  way, 
Meet  pavement  for  an  angel's  glorious  march  : 

My  soul  is  envious  of  mine  eye, 
That  it  should  soar  and  glide  with  thee  so  fast, 

The  while  my  grovelling  thoughts  half  buried  lie, 
Or  lawless  roam  around  this  earthly  waste. 

Chains  of  my  heart,  avaunt  I  say — 
I  will  arise,  and  in  the  strength  of  love 

Pursue  the  bright  track  ere  it  fade  away, 
My  Saviour's  pathway  to  His  home  above. 


Sure,  when  I  reach  the  point  where  earth 
Melts  into  nothing  from  th'  uncuinber'd  sight, 

Heaven  will  o'ercome  th'  attraction  of  my  birth. 
And  I  shall  sink  in  yonder  sea  of  light 


(158) 


ASCENSION  DAY.  159 


Till  resting  by  th'  incarnate  Lord, 
Once  bleeding,  now  triumphant  for  my  sake, 
I  mark  Him,  how  by  seraph  hosts  ador'd, 
He  to  earth's  lowest  cares  is  still  awake. 

The  sun  and  every  vassal  star, 
All  space,  beyond  the  soar  of  angel  wings, 

Wait  on  His  word  :  and  yet  He  stays  His  car 
For  every  sigh  a  contrite  suppliant  brings. 

He  listens  to  the  silent  tear 
For  all  the  anthems  of  the  boundless  sky — 
And  shall  our  dreams  of  music  bar  our  ear 
To  His  soul-piercing  voice  for  ever  nigh  ? 

Nay,  gracious  Saviour — but  as  now 
Our  thoughts  have  trac'd  Thee  to  Thy  glory-throne, 

So  help  us  evermore  with  Thee  to  bow 
Where  human  sorrow  breathes  her  lowly  moan. 

We  must  not  stand  to  gaze  too  long, 
Though  on  unfolding  Heaven  our  gaze  we  bend, 
Where  lost  behind  the  bright  angelic  throng 
We  see  Christ's  entering  triumph  slow  ascend. 

No  fear  but  we  shall  soon  behold, 
Faster  than  now  it  fades,  that  gleam  revive, 
When  issuing  from  his  cloud  of  fiery  gold 
Our  wasted  frames  feel  the  true  sun,  and  live. 


160  ASCENSION  DAW 


Then  shall  we  see  Thee  as  Thou  art, 
For  ever  fix'd  in  no  unfruitful  gaze, 

But  such  as  lifts  the  new  created-heart, 
Age  after  age,  in  worthier  love  and  praise. 


SUNDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION. 


As  every  man  hath  received  the  gift,  even  so  minister  the  same  one  to 
another,  as  good  stewards  of  the  manifold  grace  of  God.     1  St.  Peter  iv.  10. 


The  Earth  that  in  her  genial  breast 
Makes  for  the  down  a  kindly  nest, 
Where  wafted  by  the  warm  south-west 

It  floats  at  pleasure, 
Yields,  thankful,  of  her  very  best, 

To  nurse  her  treasure  : 

True  to  her  trust,  tree,  herb,  or  reed, 
She  renders  for  each  scatter'd  seed, 
And  to  her  Lord  with  duteous  heed 

Gives  large  increase : 
Thus  year  by  year  she  works  unfeed, 

And  will  not  cease. 

Woe  worth  these  barren  hearts  of  ours, 
Where  Thou  hast  set  celestial  flowers, 

14*  (161) 


162  SUNDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION. 

And  water'd  with  more  balmy  showers 

Than  e'er  distill'd 
In  Eden,  on  th'  ambrosial  bowers — 

Yet  nought  we  yield. 

Largely  Thou  givest,  gracious  Lord, 
Largely  Thy  gifts  should  be  restor'd ; 
Freely  Thou  givest,  and  Thy  word 

Is,  "  Freely  give."r 
He  only,  who  forgets  to  hoard, 

Has  learn'd  to  live. 

Wisely  Thou  givest — all  around 
Thine  equal  rays  are  resting  found, 
Yet  varying  so  on  various  ground 

They  pierce  and  strike, 
That  not  two  roseate  cups  are  crown'd 

With  dew  alike : 

Even  so,  in  silence,  likest  Thee, 
Steals  on  soft-handed  Charity, 
Tempering  her  gifts,  that  seem  so  free, 

By  time  and  place, 
Till  not  a  woe  the  bleak  world  see, 

But  finds  her  grace  : 

r  St.  Matthew  x.  8. 


SUNDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION.  163 

Eyes  to  the  blind,  and  to  the  lame 
Feet,  and  to  sinners  wholesome  blame, 
To  starving  bodies  food  and  flame, 

By  turns  she  brings, 
To  humbled  souls,  that  sink  for  shame, 

Lends  heaven-ward  wings : 

Leads  them  the  way  our  Saviour  went, 
And  shews  Love's  treasure  yet  unspent ; 
As  when  the  unclouded  heavens  were  rent 

Opening  His  road, 
Nor  yet  His  Holy  Spirit  sent 

To  our  abode. 

Ten  days  th'  eternal  doors  display'd 
Were  wondering  (so  th'  Almighty  bade) 
Whom  Love  enthron'd  would  send,  in  aid 

Of  souls  that  mourn, 
Left  orphans  in  Earth's  dreary  shade 

As  soon  as  born. 

Open  they  stand,  that  prayers  in  throngs 
May  rise  on  high,  and  holy  songs, 
Such  incense  as  of  right  belongs 

To  the  true  shrine, 
Where  stands  the  Healer  of  all  wrongs 

In  light  divine ; 


164  SUNDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION. 


The  golden  censer  in  His  hand, 
He  offers  hearts  from  every  land, 
Tied  to  His  own  by  gentlest  band 

Of  silent  Love : 
About  Him  winged  blessings  stand 

In  act  to  move. 

A  little  while,  and  they  shall  fleet 
From  Heaven  to  Earth,  attendants  meet 
On  the  life-giving  Paraclete 

Speeding  His  flight, 
With  all  that  sacred  is  and  sweet, 
On  saints  to  light. 

Apostles,  Prophets,  Pastors,  all 
Shall  feel  the  shower  of  Mercy  fall, 
And  starting  at  th'  Almighty's  call, 

Give  what  He  gave, 
Till  their  high  deeds  the  world  appal, 

And  sinners  save. 


WHITSUNDAY. 

And  suddenly  there  came  a  pound  from  Heaven  as  of  a  rushing  mighty 
wind,  and  it  filled  all  the  house  where  they  were  sitting.  And  there  appeared 
unto  them  cloven  tongites  like  as  of  fire,  and  it  sat  upon  each  of  them.  And 
they  were  all  filled  with  the  Holy  Ghost.     Acta  ii.  2 — 4. 

When  God  of  old  came  down  from  Heaven, 
In  power  and  wrath  He  came  ; 

Before  His  feet  the  clouds  were  riven, 
Half  darkness  half  flame  : 

Around  the  trembling  mountain's  base 

The  prostrate  people  lay ; 
A  day  of  wrath,  and  not  of  grace ; 

A  dim  and  dreadful  day. 

But  when  He  came  the  second  time, 

He  came  in  power  and  love, 
Softer  than  gale  at  morning  prime 

Hover'd  His  holy  Dove. 

The  fires  that  rush'd  on  Sinai  down 

In  sudden  torrents  dread, 
Now  gently  light,  a  glorious  crown, 

On  every  sainted  head. 

(165) 


1G6  WHITSUNDAY. 


Like  arrows  went  those  lightnings  forth 
Wing'd  with  the  sinner's  doom, 

But  these,  like  tongues,  o'er  all  the  earth 
Proclaiming  life  to  come  : 

And  as  on  Israel's  awe-struck  ear 

The  voice  exceeding  loud, 
The  trump,  that  angels  quake  to  hear, 

Thrill'd  from  the  deep,  dark  cloud, 

So,  when  the  spirit  of  our  God 
Came  down  His  flock  to  find, 

A  voice  from  Heaven  was  heard  abroad, 
A  rushing,  mighty  wind. 

Nor  doth  the  outward  ear  alone 
At  that  high  warning  start; 

Conscience  gives  back  th'  appalling  tone ; 
'Tis  echoed  in  the  heart. 

It  fills  the  Church  of  God  ;  it  fills 

The  sinful  world  around  ; 
Only  in  stubborn  hearts  and  wills 

No  place  for  it  is  found. 

To  other  strains  our  souls  are  set : 

A  giddy  whirl  of  sin 
Fills  ear  and  brain,  and  will  not  let 

Heaven's  harmonies  come  in. 


Come  Lord,  come  Wisdom,  Love,  and  Power, 

Open  our  ears  to  hear ; 
Let  us  not  miss  th'  accepted  hour ; 

Save,  Lord,  by  Love  or  fear. 


MONDAY  IN  WHITSUN-WEEK. 


So  the  Lord  scattered  them  abroad  from  thence  upon  the  face  of  all  the 
earth  :  and  they  left  off  to  build  the  city.     Genesis  xi.  8. 


Since  all  that  is  not  Heaven  must  fade, 
Light  be  the  hand  of  Ruin  laid 

Upon  the  home  I  love : 
With  lulling  spell  let  soft  Decay 
Steal  on,  and  spare  the  giant  sway, 

The  crash  of  tower  and  grove. 

Far  opening  down  some  woodland  deep 
In  their  own  quiet  glade  should  sleep 

The  relics  dear  to  thought, 
And  wild-flower  wreaths  from  side  to  side 
Their  waving  tracery  hang,  to  hide 

What  ruthless  Time  has  wrought. 

Such  are  the  visions  green  and  sweet 
That  o'er  the  wistful  fancy  fleet 

(168) 


'-U;-:  ' 


MONDAY  IN  WIIITSUN-WEEK. 


100 


In  Asia's  sea-like  plain, 
Where  slowly,  round,  his  isles  of  sand, 
Euphrates  through  the  lonely  land 

Winds  toward  the  pearly  main. 

Slumber  is  there,  but  not  of  rest ; 
There  her  forlorn  and  weary  nest 

The  famish'd  hawk  has  found, 
The  wild  doo;  howls  at  fall  of  night, 
The  serpent's  rustling  coils  affright 

The  traveller  on  his  round. 

What  shapeless  form,  half  lost  on  high,8 
Half  seen  against  the  evening  sky, 

Seems  like  a  ghost  to  glide, 
And  watch,  from  Babel's  crumbling  heap, 
Where  in  her  shadow,  fast  asleep, 

Lies  fall'n  imperial  Pride  ? 

With  half-clos'd  eye  a  lion  there 
Is  basking  in  his  noontide  lair, 


"-See  Sir  R.  K.  Porter's  Travels,  ii.  387.  "In  my  second  visit  to  Birs  Nim- 
rood,  my  party  suddenly  halted,  having  descried  several  dark  objects  moving 
along  the  summit  of  its  hill,  which  they  construed  into  dismounted  Arabs  on 
the  look  out:  I  took  out  my  glass  to  examine,  and  soon  distinguished  that  the 
causes  of  our  alarm  were  two  or  three  majestic  lions,  taking  the  air  upon  the 
heights  of  the  pyramid." 
15 


170  MONDAY  IN  WHITSUN-WEEK. 

Or  prowls  in  twilight  gloom. 
The  golden  city's  king  he  seems, 
Such  as  in  old  prophetic  dreams* 

Sprang  from  rough  ocean's  womb. 

But  where  are  now  his  eagle  wings, 
That  shelter'd  erst  a  thousand  kings, 

Hiding  the  glorious  sky 
From  half  the  nations,  till  they  own 
No  holier  name,  no  mightier  throne  ? 

That  vision  is  gone  by. 

Quench'd  is  the  golden  statue's  ray," 
The  breath  of  heaven  has  blown  away 

What  toiling  earth  had  pil'd, 
Scattering  wise  heart  and  crafty  hand, 
As  breezes  strew  on  ocean's  sand 

The  fabrics  of  a  child. 

Divided  thence  through  every  age 
Thy  rebels,  Lord,  their  warfare  wage, 

And  hoarse  and  jarring  all 
Mount  up  their  heaven-assailing  cries 
To  Thy  bright  watchmen  in  the  skies 

From  Babel's  shatter'd  wall. 

Thrice  only  since,  with  blended  might 
The  nations  on  that  haughty  height 

'  Daniel  vii.  4.  u  Daniel  ii.  and  iii. 


MONDAY  IN  WII1TSUN-WEEK.  171 

Have  met  to  scale  the  Heaven  : 
Thrice  only  might  a  seraph's  look 
A  moment's  shade  of  sadness  brook — 

Such  power  to  guilt  was  given. 

Now  the  fierce  Bear  and  Leopard  keen* 
Are  perish'd  as  they  ne'er  had  been, 

Oblivion  is  their  home  : 
Ambition's  boldest  dream  and  last 
Must  melt  before  the  clarion  blast 

That  sounds  the  dirge  of  Rome. 

Heroes  and  Kings,  obey  the  charm, 
Withdraw  the  proud  high-reaching  arm, 

There  is  an  oath  on  high, 
That  ne'er  on  brow  of  mortal  birth 
Shall  blend  again  the  crowns  of  earth, 

Nor  in  according  cry 

Her  many  voices  mingling  own 
One  tyrant  Lord,  one  idol  throne  : 

But  to  His  triumph  soon 
He  shall  descend,  who  rules  above, 
And  the  pure  language  of  His  lovey 

All  tongues  of  men  shall  tune. 

x  Daniel  vii.  5,  6. 

y  "  Then  will  I  turn  to  the  people  a  pure  language,  that  they  may  all  call 
upon  the  name  of  the  Lord,  to  serve  Him  with  one  consent."   Zephaniah  iii.  9. 


172  MONDAY  IN  WHITSUN-WEEK. 


Nor  let  Ambition  heartless  mourn  ; 
When  Babel's  very  ruins  burn, 

Her  high  desires  may  breathe  : — 
O'ercome  thyself,  and  thou  mayst  share 
With  Christ  His  Father's  throne,2  and  wear 

The  world's  imperial  wreath. 

z  "  To  him  that  overcoineth  will  I  grant  to  sit  with  Me  in  My  throne. 
Revelations  iii.  21. 


TUESDAY  IN  WIIITSUN-WEEK. 


M'hen  He  puucth  forth  His  own  sheep,  He  goeth  before  them. 

St.  John  x.  4. 


(Addressed  to  Candidates  for  Ordination.) 

"  Lord,  in  Thy  field  I  work  all  day, 
"  I  read,  I  teach,  I  warn,  I  pray, 
"  And  yet  these  wilful  wandering  sheep 
"  Within  Thy  fold  I  cannot  keep. 

"  I  journey,  yet  no  step  is  won — 

"  Alas !  the  weary  course  I  run  ! 

"  Like  sailors  shipwreck'd  in  their  dreams, 

"  All  powerless  and  benighted  seems." 

What?  wearied  out  with  half  a  life? 
Scar'd  with  this  smooth  unbloody  strife  ? 
Think  where  thy  coward  hopes  had  flown 
Had  Heaven  held  out  the  martyr's  crown. 

15  *  (173) 


174  TUESDAY  IN  WHITSUN-WEEK. 

How  could'st  thou  hang  upon  the  cross, 
To  whom  a  weary  hour  is  loss  ? 
Or  how  the  thorns  and  scourging  brook, 
Who  shrinkest  from  a  scornful  look  ? 

Yet  ere  thy  craven  spirit  faints, 
Hear  thine  own  King,  the  King  of  Saints; 
Though  thou  wert  toiling  in  the  grave, 
'Tis  He  can  cheer  thee,  He  can  save. 

He  is  th'  eternal  mirror  bright, 
Where  Angels  view  the  Father's  light, 
And  yet  in  Him  the  simplest  swain 
May  read  his  homely  lesson  plain. 

Early  to  quit  His  home  on  earth, 
And  claim  His  high  celestial  birth, 
Alone  with  His  true  Father  found 
Within  the  temple's  solemn  round  : — 

Yet  in  meek  duty  to  abide 

For  many  a  year  at  Mary's  side, 

Nor  heed,  though  restless  spirits  ask, 

"  What?  hath  the  Christ  forgot  His  task  ?' 

Conscious  of  Deity  within, 
To  bow  before  an  heir  of  sin, 


TUESDAY  IN  WHITSUN-WEEK.  175 

With  folded  arms  on  humble  breast, 

By  His  own  servant  wash'd  and  blest : — 

Then  full  of  Heaven,  the  mystic  Dove 
Hovering  His  gracious  brow  above, 
To  shun  the  voice  and  eye  of  praise, 
And  in  the  wild  His  trophies  raise : — 

With  hymns  of  angels  in  His  ears, 
Back  to  His  task  of  woe  and  tears, 
Unmurmuring  through  the  world  to  roam 
With  not  a  wish  or  thought  at  home  : — 

All  but  Himself  to  heal  and  save, 
Till  ripen'd  for  the  cross  and  grave, 
He  to  His  Father  gently  yield 
The  breath  that  our  redemption  seal'd : — 

Then  to  unearthly  life  arise, 
Yet  not  at  once  to  seek  the  skies, 
But  glide  awhile  from  saint  to  saint, 
Lest  on  our  lonely  way  we  faint ; 

And  through  the  cloud  by  glimpses  show 
How  bright,  in  Heaven,  the  marks  will  glow 
Of  the  true  cross,  imprinted  deep 
Both  on  the  Shepherd  and  the  sheep : — 


176  TUESDAY  IN  WHITSUN-WEEK. 


When  out  of  sight,  in  heart  and  prayer 
Thy  chosen  people  still  to  bear, 
And  from  behind  Thy  glorious  veil, 
Shed  light  that  cannot  change  or  fail : — 


This  is  Thy  pastoral  course,  0  Lord, 
Till  we  be  sav'd,  and  Thou  ador'd ; — 
Thy  course  and  ours — but  who  are  they 
Who  follow  on  the  narrow  way  ? 

And  yet  of  Thee  from  year  to  year 
The  Church's  solemn  Chant  we  hear, 
As  from  Thy  cradle  to  Thy  throne 
She  swells  her  high  heart-cheerino;  tone. 

Listen,  ye  pure  white-robed  souls, 
Whom  in  her  list  she  now  enrolls, 
And  gird  ye  for  your  high  emprize 
By  these  her  thrilling  minstrelsies. 

And  whereso'er  in  earth's  wide  field. 
Ye  lift,  for  Him,  the  red-cross  shield. 
Be  this  your  song,  your  joy  and  pride — 
"  Our  Champion  went  before  and  died." 


TRINITY   SUNDAY. 


If  I  have  told  you  earthly  things,  and  ye  believe  not,  how  shall  ye  believe,  if 
I  tell  you  of  heavenly  things?     St.  John  iii.  12. 


Creator,  Saviour,  strengthening  Guide, 
Now  on  Thy  mercy's  ocean  wide 
Far  out  of  sight  we  seem  to  glide. 

Help  us,  each  hour,  with  steadier  eye 
To  search  the  deepening  mystery, 
The  wonders  of  Thy  sea  and  sky. 

The  blessed  angels  look  and  long 
To  praise  Thee  with  a  worthier  song, 
And  yet  our  silence  does  Thee  wrong. — 

Along  the  Church's  central  space 
The  sacred  weeks,  with  unfelt  pace, 
Have  borne  us  on  from  grace  to  grace. 

As  travellers  on  some  woodland  height, 
When  wintry  suns  are  gleaming  bright, 
Lose  in  arch'd  glades  their  tangled  sight  ;- 

(177) 


178  TRINITY  SUNDAY. 


By  glimpses  such  as  dreamers  love 
Through  her  grey  veil  the  leafless  grove 
Shews  where  the  distant  shadows  rove  ; — 

Such  trembling  joy  the  soul  o'er-awes 
As  nearer  to  Thy  shrine  she  draws :  — 
And  now  before  the  choir  we  pause. 

The  door  is  clos'd — but  soft  and  deep 
Around  the  awful  arches  sweep 
Such  airs  as  soothe  a  hermit's  sleep. 

From  each  carv'd  nook  and  fretted  bend 

Cornice  and  gallery  seem  to  send 

Tones  that  with  seraph  hymns  might  blend. 

Three  solemn  parts  together  twine 

In  harmony's  mysterious  line  ; 

Three  solemn  aisles  approach  the  shrine : 

Yet  all  are  One — together  all, 

In  thoughts  that  awe  but  not  appal, 

Teach  the  adoring  heart  to  fall. 

Within  these  walls  each  fluttering  guest 
Is  gently  lur'd  to  one  safe  nest — 
Without,  'tis  moaning  and  unrest. 

The  busy  world  a  thousand  ways 

Is  hurrying  by,  nor  ever  stays 

To  catch  a  note  of  Thy  dear  praise. 


TRINITY  SUNDAY.  179 


Why  tarries  not  her  chariot  wheel, 
That  o'er  her  with  no  vain  appeal 
One  gust  of  heavenly  song  might  steal? 

Alas  !  for  her  Thy  opening  flowers 
Unheeded  breathe  to  summer  showers, 
Unheard  the  music  of  Thy  bowers. 

What  echoes  from  the  sacred  dome 
The  selfish  spirit  may  o'ercome 
That  will  not  hear  of  love  or  home  ? 

The  heart  that  scorn'd  a  father's  care, 
How  can  it  rise  in  filial  prayer? 
How  an  all-seeing  Guardian  bear  ? 

Or  how  shall  envious  brethren  own 
A  Brother  on  th'  eternal  throne, 
Their  Father's  joy,  their  hope  alone  ? 

How  shall  Thy  Spirit's  gracious  wile 
The  sullen  brow  of  gloom  beguile, 
That  frowns  on  sweet  Affection's  smile? 

Eternal  One,  Almighty  Trine  ! 

(Since  Thou  art  ours,  and  we  are  Thine,) 

By  all  Thy  love  did  once  resign, 

By  all  the  grace  Thy  heavens  still  hide, 
We  pray  Thee,  keep  us  at  Thy  side, 
Creator,  Saviour,  strengthening  Guide  ! 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


So  Joshua  smote  all  the  country  .  .  .  and  all  their  kings  :  he  left  none  re- 
maining.    Joshua  x.  40. 


Where  is  the  land  with  milk  and  honey  flowing, 

The  promise  of  our  God,  our  fancy's  theme  ? 
Here  over  shatter'd  walls  dank  weeds  are  growing, 
And  blood  and  fire  have  run  in  mingled  stream  ; 
Like  oaks  and  cedars  all  around 
The  giant  corses  strew  the  ground, 
And  haughty  Jericho's  cloud-piercing  wall 
Lies  where  it  sank  at  Joshua's  trumpet  call. 

These  are  not  scenes  for  pastoral  dance  at  even, 
For  moonlight  rovings  in  the  fragrant  glades, 
Soft  slumbers  in  the  open  eye  of  Heaven, 
And  all  the  listless  joy  of  summer  shades. 
We  in  the  midst  of  ruins  live, 
Which  every  hour  dread  warning  give, 
Nor  may  our  household  vine  or  fig-tree  hide 
The  broken  arches  of  old  Canaan's  pride. 

(180) 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  181 

Where  is  the  sweet  repose  of  hearts  repenting, 
The  deep  calm  sky,  the  sunshine  of  the  soul, 
Now  Heaven  and  earth  are  to  our  bliss  consenting, 
And  all  the  Godhead  joins  to  make  us  whole  ? 
The  triple  crown  of  mercy  now 
Is  ready  for  the  suppliant's  brow, 
By  the  Almighty  Three  for  ever  plann'd, 
And  from  behind  the  cloud  held  out  by  Jesus'  hand. 

"  Now,  Christians,  hold  your  own — the  land  before  ye 

"  Is  open — win  your  way,  and  take  your  rest." 
So  sounds  our  war-note ;  but  our  path  of  glory 
By  many  a  cloud  is  darken'd  and  unblest : 
And  daily  as  we  downward  glide, 
Life's  ebbing  stream  on  either  side 
Shews  at  each  turn  some  mould'ring  hope  or  joy, 
The  Man  seems  following  still  the  funeral  of  the  Boy. 

Open  our  eyes,  Thou  Sun  of  life  and  gladness, 

That  we  may  see  that  glorious  world  of  Thine ! 
It  shines  for  us  in  vain,  while  drooping  sadness 
Enfolds  us  here  like  mist :  come  Power  benign, 
Touch  our  chill'd  hearts  with  vernal  smile, 
Our  wintry  course  do  Thou  beguile, 
Nor  by  the  wayside  ruins  let  us  mourn, 
Who   have   th'  eternal   towers   for  our  appointed 
bourne. 

1G 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Marvel  not,  m3T  brethren,  if  the  world  hate  you.     Wo  know  that  we  have 
passed  from  death  unto  life,  because  we  love  the  brethren.    1  St.  John  iii.  13,  14. 


The  clouds  that  wrap  the  setting  sun 

When  Autumn's  softest  gleams  are  ending, 
Where  all  bright  hues  together  run 
In  sweet  confusion  blending  : — 
Why,  as  we  watch  their  floating  wreath, 
Seem  they  the  breath  of  life  to  breathe  ? 
To  Fancy's  eye  their  motions  prove 
They  mantle  round  the  Sun  for  love. 

When  up  some  woodland  dale  we  catch 
The  many-twinkling  smilea  of  ocean, 

Or  with  pleas'd  ear  bewilder'd  watch 
His  chime  of  restless  motion ; 

a irovr'nov  re  Ki'/xiroiv 

dffjpiOjioi'  yi\ti?iux iEsehyl.  Prom.  89. 

(182) 


Still  as  the  surging  waves  retire 


They  seem  to  gasp  with  strong  desire 
Such  signs  of  love  old  Ocean  gives, 
We  cannot  choose  but  think  he  lives. 


Would'st  thou  the  life  of  souls  discern? 

Nor  human  wisdom  nor  divine 
Helps  thee  by  aught  beside  to  learn; 

Love  is  life's  only  sign. 
The  spring  of  the  regenerate  heart, 
The  pulse,  the  glow  of  every  part, 
Is  the  true  love  of  Christ  our  Lord, 
As  man  embrac'd,  as  God  ador'd. 

But  he,  whose  heart  will  bound  to  mark 
The  full  bright  burst  of  summer  morn, 
Loves  too.  each  little  dewy  spark 

By  leaf  or  flow'ret  'worn  : 
Cheap  forms,  and  common  hues,  'tis  true, 
Through  the  bright  shower-drop  meet  his  view; 
The  colouring  may  be  of  this  earth  ; 
The  lustre  comes  of  heavenly  birth. 

Even  so,  who  loves  the  Lord  aright, 

No  soul  of  man  can  worthless  find ; 
All  will  be  precious  in  his  sight, 

Since  Christ  on  all  hath  shined  : 


184  SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

But  chiefly  Christian  souls  ;  for  they, 
Though  worn  and  soil'd  with  sinful  clay, 
Are  yet,  to  eyes  that  see  them  true, 
All  glistening  with  baptismal  dew. 

Then  marvel  not,  if  such  as  bask 

In  purest  light  of  innocence, 
Hope  against  hope,  in  love's  dear  task, 

Spite  of  all  dark  offence. 
If  they  who  hate  the  trespass  most, 
Yet,  when  all  other  love  is  lost, 
Love  the  poor  sinner,  marvel  not ; 
Christ's  mark  outwears  the  rankest  blot. 

No  distance  breaks  the  tie  of  blood ; 

Brothers  are  brothers  evermore  ; 
Nor  wrong,  nor  wrath  of  deadliest  mood, 

That  magic  may  o'erpower  ; 
Oft,  ere  the  common  source  be  known, 
The  kindred  drops  will  claim  their  own, 
And  throbbing  pulses  silently 
Move  heart  towards  heart  by  sympathy. 

So  is  it  with  true  Christian  hearts ; 

Their  mutual  share  in  Jesus'  blood 
An  everlasting  bond  imparts 
Of  holiest  brotherhood : 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  185 

Oh  !  might  we  all  our  lineage  prove, 
Give  and  forgive,  do  good  and  love, 
By  soft  endearments  in  kind  strife 
Lightening  the  load  of  daily  life  ! 

There  is  much  need ;  for  not  as  yet 

Are  we  in  shelter  or  repose, 
The  holy  house  is  still  beset 

With  leaguer  of  stern  foes ; 
Wild  thoughts  within,  bad  men  without, 
All  evil  spirits  round  about, 
Are  banded  in  unblest  device, 
To  spoil  Love's  earthly  paradise. 

Then  draw  we  nearer  day  by  day, 

Each  to  his  brethren,  all  to  God ; 
Let  the  world  take  us  as  she  may, 

We  must  not  change  our  road ; 
Not  wondering,  though  in  grief,  to  find 
The  martyr's  foe  still  keep  her  mind ; 
But  flx'd  to  hold  Love's  banner  fast, 
And  by  submission  win  at  last. 

16* 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

There  is  joy  in  the  presence  of  the  angels  of  God  over  one  sinner  that  ro- 
penteth.     St.  Luke  xv.  10. 

0  hateful  spell  of  sin !  when  friends  are  nigh, 
To  make  stern  Memory  tell  her  tale  unsought, 

And  raise  accusing  shades  of  hours  gone  by, 
To  come  between  us  and  all  kindly  thought ! 

Chill'd  at  her  touch,  the  self-reproaching  soul 
Flies  from  the  heart  and  home  she  dearest  loves 

To  where  lone  mountains  tower,  or  billows  roll, 
Or  to  your  endless  depth,  ye  solemn  groves. 

In  vain  :  the  averted  cheek  in  loneliest  dell 
Is  conscious  of  a  gaze  it  cannot  bear, 

The  leaves  that  rustle  near  us  seem  to  tell 
Our  heart's  sad  secret  to  the  silent  air. 

Nor  is  the  dream  untrue ;  for  all  around 

The  heavens  are  watching  with  their  thousand 
eyes, 

We  cannot  pass  our  guardian  angel's  bound, 
Resign'd  or  sullen,  he  will  hear  our  sighs. 

(186) 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  187 

He  in  the  mazes  of  the  budding  wood 

Is  near,  and  mourns  to  see  our  thankless  glance 

Dwell  coldly,  where  the  fresh  green  earth  is  strew'd 
With  the  first  flowers  that  lead  the  vernal  dance. 

In  wasteful  bounty  shower'd,  they  smile  unseen, 
Unseen  by  man — but  what  if  purer  sprights 

By  moonlight  o'er  their  dewy  bosoms  lean 
To'  adore  the  Father  of  all  gentle  lights  ? 

If  such  there  be,  0  grief  and  shame  to  think 
That  sight  of  thee  should  overcloud  their  joy, 

A  new-born  soul,  just  waiting  on  the  brink 
Of  endless  life,  yet  wrapt  in  earth's  annoy  ! 

0  turn,  and  be  thou  turn'd !  the  selfish  tear, 
In  bitter  thoughts  of  low-born  care  begun, 

Let  it  flow  on,  but  flow  refin'd  and  clear, 
The  turbid  waters  brightening  as  they  run. 

Let  it  flow  on,  till  all  thine  earthly  heart 
In  penitential  drops  have  ebb'd  away, 

Then  fearless  turn  where  Heaven  hath  set  thy  part, 
Nor  shudder  at  the  Eye  that  saw  thee  stray. 

0  lost  and  found  !  all  gentle  souls  below 

Their  dearest  welcome  shall  prepare,  and  prove 

Such  joy  o'er  thee,  as  raptur'd  seraphs  know, 
Who  learn  their  lesson  at  the  Throne  of  Love. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY, 


For  the  earnest  expectation  of  the  creature  waiteth  for  the  manifestation  of 
the  sons  of  God.  For  the  creature  was  made  subject  to  vanity,  not  willingly, 
but  by  reason  of  Him  who  hath  subjected  the  same  in  hope,  because  the 
creature  itself  also  shall  be  delivered  from  the  bondage  of  corruption  into  the 
glorious  liberty  of  the  children  of  God.  For  we  know  that  the  whole  creation 
groaneth  and  travaileth  in  pain  together  until  now.     Romans  viii.  19-22. 


It  was  not  then  a  poet's  dream, 

An  idle  vaunt  of  song, 
Such  as  beneath  the  moon's  soft  gleam 

On  vacant  fancies  throng ; 

Which  bids  us  see  in  heaven  and  earth, 

In  all  fair  things  around, 
Strong  yearnings  for  a  blest  new  birth 

With  sinless  glories  crown'd  ; 

Which  bids  us  hear,  at  each  sweet  pause 
From  care  and  want  and  toil, 

When  dewy  eve  her  curtain  draws 
Over  the  day's  turmoil, 

(188) 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  180 

In  the  low  chant  of  wakeful  birds, 

In  the  deep  weltering  flood, 
In  whispering  leaves,  these  solemn  words- 

"  God  made  us  all  for  good." 

All  true,  all  faultless,  all  in  tune, 

Creation's  wondrous  choir, 
Open'd  in  mystic  unison 

To  last  till  time  expire. 

And  still  it  lasts :  by  day  and  night, 

With  one  consenting  voice, 
All  hymn  Thy  glory,  Lord,  aright, 

All  worship  and  rejoice. 

Man  only  mars  the  sweet  accord, 
O'erpowering  with  "  harsh  din" 

The  music  of  Thy  works  and  word, 
111  match'd  with  grief  and  sin. 

Sin  is  with  man  at  morning  break, 
And  through  the  live-long  day 

Deafens  the  ear  that  fain  would  wake 
To  Nature's  simple  lay. 

But  when  eve's  silent  foot-fall  steals 

Along  the  eastern  sky, 
And  one  by  one  to  earth  reveals 

Those  purer  fires  on  high, 


190  FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

When  one  by  one  each  human  sound 

Dies  on  the  awful  ear, 
Then  Nature's  voice  no  more  is  drown'd, 

She  speaks,  and  we  must  hear. 

Then  pours  she  on  the  Christian  heart 
That  warning  still  and  deep, 

At  which  high  spirits  of  old  would  start 
E'en  from  their  Pagan  sleep, 

Just  guessing,  through  their  murky  blind, 
Few,  faint,  and  baffling  sight, 

Streaks  of  a  brighter  heaven  behind, 
A  cloudless  depth  of  light. 

Such  thoughts,  the  wreck  of  Paradise, 
Through  many  a  dreary  age, 

Upbore  whate'er  of  good  and  wise 
Yet  lived  in  bard  or  sage  : 

They  mark'd  what  agonizing  throes 
Shook  the  great  mother's  womb ; 

But  Reason's  spells  might  not  disclose 
The  gracious  birth  to  come ; 

Nor  could  th'  enchantress  Hope  forecast 
God's  secret  love  and  power ; 

The  travail  pangs  of  Earth  must  last 
Till  her  appointed  hour  ; 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.         11)1 


The  hour  that  saw  from  opening  heaven 

Redeeming  glory  stream, 
Beyond  the  summer  h  ues  of  even, 

Beyond  the  mid-day  beam. 

Thenceforth,  to  eyes  of  high  desire, 
The  meanest  things  below, 

As  with  a  seraph's  robe  of  fire 
Invested,  burn  and  glow : 

The  rod  of  Heaven  has  touch'd  them  all, 
The  word  from  Heaven  is  spoken ; 

"  Rise,  shine,  and  sing,  thou  captive  thrall 
"  Are  not  thy  fetters  broken  ? 

"  The  God  Who  hallow'd  thee  and  blest, 
"  Pronouncing  thee  all  good — 

"Hath  He  not  all  thy  wrongs  redrest, 
"And  all  thy  bliss  renew'd? 

"  Why  mourn'st  thou  still  as  one  bereft, 

"  Now  that  th'  eternal  Son 
"  His  blessed  home  in  heaven  hath  left 

"  To  make  thee  all  His  own  ?" 

Thou  mourn'st  because  Sin  lingers  still 
In  Christ's  new  heaven  and  earth ; 

Because  our  rebel  works  and  will 
Stain  our  immortal  birth  : 


192  FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

Because,  as  Love  and  Prayer  grow  cold, 
The  Saviour  hides  His  face, 

And  worldlings  blot  the  temple's  gold 
With  uses  vile  and  base. 

Hence  all  thy  groans  and  travail  pains, 
Hence,  till  thy  God  return, 

In  Wisdom's  ear  thy  blithest  strains, 
Oh  Nature,  seem  to  mourn. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


And  Simon  answering  said  unto  Him,  Master,  we  have  toiled  all  tbe  night, 
and  have  taken  nothing :  nevertheless  at  Thy  word  I  will  let  down  the  net. 
And  when  they  had  this  done,  they  inclosed  a  great  multitude  of  fishes:  and 
their  net  brake.     St.  Luke  v.  5,  6. 


"  The  live-long  night  we've  toil'd  in  vain, 
"  But  at  Thy  gracious  word 

"  I  will  let  down  the  net  again  : — 
«  Do  Thou  Thy  will,  0  Lord  !" 

So  spake  the  weary  fisher,  spent 
With  bootless  darkling  toil, 

Yet  on  his  Master's  bidding  bent 
For  love  and  not  for  spoil. 

So  day  by  day  and  week  by  week, 
In  sad  and  weary  thought, 

They  muse,  whom  God  hath  set  to  seek 
The  souls  His  Christ  hath  bought. 

For  not  upon  a  tranquil  lake 

Our  pleasant  task  we  ply, 
Where  all  along  our  glistening  wake 

The  softest  moonbeams  lie; 

17  (193) 


194:  FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

Where  rippling  wave  and  dashing  oar 
Our  midnight  chant  attend, 

Or  whispering  palm-leaves  from  the  shore 
With  midnight  silence  blend. 

Sweet  thoughts  of  peace,  ye  may  not  last 
Too  soon  some  ruder  sound 

Calls  us  from  where  ye  soar  so  fast 
Back  to  our  earthly  round. 

For  wildest  storms  our  ocean  sweep  : — 

No  anchor  but  the  Cross 
Might  hold  :  and  oft  the  thankless  deep 

Turns  all  our  toil  to  loss. 

Full  many  a  dreary  anxious  hour 
We  watch  our  nets  alone 

In  drenching  spray,  and  driving  shower, 
And  hear  the  night-bird's  moan  : 

At  morn  we  look,  and  nought  is  there ; 

Sad  dawn  of  cheerless  day! 
Who  then  from  pining  and  despair 

The  sickening  heart  can  stay? 

There  is  a  stay — and  we  are  strong ; 

Our  Master  is  at  hand, 
To  cheer  our  solitary  song, 

And  guide  us  to  the  strand, 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  195 


In  His  own  time:  but  yet  awhile 
Our  bark  at  sea  must  ride  : 

Cast  after  cast,  by  force  or  guile 
All  waters  must  be  tried  : 

By  blameless  guile  or  gentle  force, 
As  when  He  deign 'd  to  teach 

(The  lode-star  of  our  Christian  course) 
Upon  this  sacred  beach. 

Should  e'er  Thy  wonder-working  grace 
Triumph  by  our  weak  arm, 

Let  not  our  sinful  fancy  trace 

Aught  human  in  the  charm  : 

To  our  own  netsb  ne'er  bow  we  down, 

Lest  on  the  eternal  shore 
The  angels,  while  our  draught  they  own/ 

Reject  us  evermore  : 


Or,  if  for  our  unworthiness 

Toil,  prayer,  and  watching  fail, 

In  disappointment  Thou  canst  bless, 
So  love  at  heart  prevail. 

"  They  sacrifice  unto  their  net,  and  burn   incense   unto  their  drag.     Ha. 
bukkuh  i.  16. 

c  St.  Matthew  xiii.  49. 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

David  said  unto  Nathan,  I  have  sinned  against  the  Lord.     And  Nathan 
said  unto  David,  the  Lord  also  hath  put  away  thy  sin;  thou  shalt  not  die. 

2  Samuel  xii.  13. 


When  bitter  thoughts,  of  conscience  born, 

With  sinners  wake  at  morn, 
When  from  our  restless  couch  we  start 
With  fever'd  lips  and  wither'd  heart, 
Where  is  the  spell  to  charm  those  mists  away, 
And  make  new  morning  in  that  darksome  day  ? 
One  draught  of  spring's  delicious  air, 
One  stedfast  thought,  that  God  is  there. 

These  are  Thy  wonders,  hourly  wrought/ 
Thou  Lord  of  time  and  thought, 

Lifting  and  lowering  souls  at  will, 

Crowding  a  world  of  good  or  ill 
Into  a  moment's  vision ;  even  as  light 
Mounts  o'er  a  cloudy  ridge,  and  all  is  bright, 

From  west  to  east  one  thrilling  ray 

Turning  a  wintry  world  to  May. 


d  See  Herbert's  Poems,  p.  160. 


(196) 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  10' 

Would'st  thou  the  pangs  of  guilt  assuage  ? 

Lo  !  here  an  open  page, 
Where  heavenly  mercy  shines  as  free, 
Written  in  balm,  sad  heart,  for  thee. 
Never  so  fast,  in  silent  April  shower, 
Flush'd  into  green  the  dry  and  leafless  bower,e 
As  Israel's  crowned  mourner  felt 
The  dull  hard  stone  within  him  melt. 

The  absolver  saw  the  mighty  grief, 

And  hasten'd  with  relief; — 
"  The  Lord'  forgives ;  thou  shalt  not  die  :" — 
'Twas  gently  spoke,  yet  heard  on  high, 
And  all  the  band  of  angels,  us'd  to  sing 
In  heaven,  accordant  to  his  raptur'd  string, 
Who  many  a  month  had  turn'd  away 
With  veiled  eyes,  nor  own'd  his  lay, 

Now  spread  their  wings,  and  throng  around 

To  the  glad  mournful  sound, 

And  welcome,  with  bright  open  face, 

The  broken  heart  to  love's  embrace. 

The  rock  is  smitten,  and  to  future  years 

Springs  ever  fresh  the  tide  of  holy  tearsf 

e  And  all  this  leafless  and  uncolour'd  scene 
Shall  flush  into  variety  again.  Coaper. 

f  The  fifty-first  Psalm. 
17* 


198  SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

And  holy  music,  whispering  peace 
Till  time  and  sin  together  cease. 

There  drink ;  and  when  ye  are  at  rest, 
With  that  free  Spirit  blest, g 

Who  to  the  contrite  can  dispense 

The  princely  heart  of  innocence, 
If  ever,  floating  from  faint  earthly  lyre, 
Was  wafted  to  your  soul  one  high  desire, 

By  all  the  trembling  hope  ye  feel, 

Think  on  the  minstrel  as  ye  kneel : 

Think  on  the  shame,  that  dreadful  hour 

When  tears  shall  have  no  power, 
Should  his  own  lay  th'  accuser  prove, 
Cold  while  he  kindled  others'  love : 
And  let  your  prayer  for  charity  arise, 
That  his  own  heart  may  hear  his  melodies, 
And  a  true  voice  to  him  may  cry, 
"  Thy  God  forgives — thou  shalt  not  die." 

6  Ps.  li.  12.  "Uphold  me  with  thy//-ee  Spirit."  The  original  word  seems 
to  mean  "  ingenuous,  princely,  noble."  Read  Bishop  Home's  Paraphrase  on 
the  verse. 


SEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Prom  whence  can  a  man  satisfy  these  men  with  bread  here  in  the  wilderness  ? 

St.  Mark  viii.  4. 


Go  not  away,  thou  weary  soul : 
Heaven  has  in  store  a  precious  dole 

Here  on  Bethsaida's  cold  and  darksome  height, 
Where  over  rocks  and  sands  arise 
Proud  Sirion  in  the  northern  skies, 

And  Tabor's  lonely  peak,  'twixt  thee  and  noon-day 
light. 

And  far  below,  Gennesaret's  main 
Spreads  many  a  mile  of  liquid  plain, 

(Though  all  seem  gather'd  in  one  eager  bound,) 
Then  narrowing  cleaves  yon  palmy  lea, 
Towards  that  deep  sulphureous  sea, 

Where  five  proud  cities  lie,  by  one  dire  sentence 
drown'd. 

Landscape  of  fear !  yet,  weary  heart, 
Thou  need'st  not  in  thy  gloom  depart, 

(199) 


H 


200  SEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Nor  fainting  turn  to  seek  thy  distant  home  : 
Sweetly  thy  sickening  throbs  are  ey'd 
By  the  kind  Saviour  at  thy  side ; 

For  healing  and  for  balm  even  now  thine  hour  is 


come. 


No  fiery  wing  is  seen  to  glide, 

No  cates  ambrosial  are  supplied, 
But  one  poor  fisher's  rude  and  scanty  store 

Is  all  He  asks  (and  more  than  needs) 

Who  men  and  angels  daily  feeds, 
And  stills  the  wailing  sea-bird  on  the  hungry  shore. 

The  feast  is  o'er,  the  guests  are  gone, 

And  over  all  that  upland  lone 
The  breeze  of  eve  sweeps  wildly  as  of  old — 

But  far  unlike  the  former  dreams, 

The  heart's  sweet  moonlight  softly  gleams 
Upon  life's  varied  view,  so  joyless  erst  and  cold. 

As  mountain  travellers  in  the  night, 

When  heaven  by  fits  is  dark  and  bright, 
Pause  listening  on  the  silent  heath,  and  hear 

Nor  trampling  hoof  nor  tinkling  bell, 

Then  bolder  scale  the  rushed  fell, 
Conscious  the  more  of  One,  ne'er  seen,  yet  ever  near  : 


SEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


201 


So  when  the  tones  of  rapture  gay 

On  the  lorn  ear,  die  quite  away, 
The  lonely  world  seems  lifted  nearer  heaven  ; 

Seen  daily,  yet  unmark'd  before, 

Earth's  common  paths  are  strewn  all  o'er 
With  flowers  of  pensive  hope,  the  wreath  of  man 
forgiven. 

The  low  sweet  tones  of  Nature's  lyre 

No  more  on  listless  ears  expire, 
Nor  vainly  smiles  along  the  shady  way 

The  primrose  in  her  vernal  nest, 

Nor  unlamented  sink  to  rest 
Sweet  roses  one  by  one,  nor  autumn  leaves  decay. 

There's  not  a  star  the  heaven  can  show, 

There's  not  a  cottage  hearth  below, 
But  feeds  with  solace  kind  the  willing  soul — 

Men  love  us,  or  they  need  our  love ; 

Freely  they  own,  or  heedless  prove 
The  curse  of  lawless  hearts,  the  joy  of  self-control. 

Then  rouse  thee  from  desponding  sleep, 

Nor  by  the  wayside  lingering  weep, 
Nor  fear  to  seek  Him  farther  in  the  wild, 

Whose  love  can  turn  earth's  worst  and  least 

Into  a  conqueror's  royal  feast : 
Thou  wilt  not  be  untrue,  thou  shalt  not  be  beguil'd. 


EIGHTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


It  is  the  man  of  God,  who  was  disobedient  unto  the  word  of  the  Lord. 

1  Kings  xiii.  2(3. 


Prophet  of  God,  arise  and  take 
With  thee  the  words  of  wrath  divine, 

The  scourge  of  Heaven,  to  shake 

O'er  yon  apostate  shrine. 

Where  Angels  down  the  lucid  stair 
Came  hovering  to  our  sainted  sires, 
Now,  in  the  twilight,  glare 
The  heathen's  wizard  fires. 

Go,  with  thy  voice  the  altar  rend, 

Scatter  the  ashes,  be  the  arm, 
That  idols  would  befriend, 
Shrunk  at  thy  withering  charm. 

Then  turn  thee,  for  thy  time  is  short, 
But  trace  not  o'er  the  former  way, 
Lest  idol  pleasures  court 
Thy  heedless  soul  astray. 

(202) 


EIGHTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Thou  know'st  how  hard  to  hurry  by, 
Where  on  the  lonely  woodland  road 

Beneath  the  moonlight  sky 

The  festal  warblings  flow'd  ; 

Where  maidens  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven 
Wove  the  gay  dance  round  oak  or  palm, 

Or  breath'd  their  vows  at  even 

In  hymns  as  soft  as  balm. 

Or  thee,  perchance,  a  darker  spell 
Enthralls :  the  smooth  stones  of  the  flood, h 

By  mountain  grot  or  fell, 

Pollute  with  infant's  blood  ; 

The  giant  altar  on  the  rock, 
The  cavern  whence  the  timbrel's  call 
Affrights  the  wandering  flock  : — 
Thou  long'st  to  search  them  all. 

Trust  not  the  dangerous  path  again — 
0  forward  step  and  lingering  will ! 

0  lov'd  and  warn'd  in  vain  ! 

And  wilt  thou  perish  still  ? 

h  Among  the  smooth  stones  of  the  stream  is  thy  portion;  they,  they  are  thy 
lot.     Isaiah  lvii.  6. 


204 


EIGHTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Thy  message  given,  thine  home  in  sight, 

To  the  forbidden  feast  return? 
Yield  to  the  false  delight 
Thy  better  soul  could  spurn  ? 


Alas,  my  brother  !  round  thy  tomb 
In  sorrow  kneeling,  and  in  fear, 
We  read  the  Pastor's  doom 
Who  speaks  and  will  not  hear. 

The  grey-hair'd  saint  may  fail  at  last, 
The  surest  guide  a  wanderer  prove ; 
Death  only  binds  us  fast 
To  the  bright  shore  of  love. 


NINTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


And  after  the  earthquake  a  fire;  but  the  Lord  was  not  in  the  fire:  and  after 
the  fire  a  still  small  voice.     1  Kings  xix.  12. 


In  troublous  days  of  anguish  and  rebuke, 
While  sadly  round  them  Israel's  children  look, 

And  their  eyes  fail  for  waiting  on  their  Lord  : 
While  underneath  each  awful  arch  of  green, 
On  every  mountain  top,  God's  chosen  scene 

Of  pure  heart-worship,  Baal  is  ador'd  : 

Tis  well,  true  hearts  should  for  a  time  retire 
To  holy  ground,  in  quiet  to  aspire 

Towards  promis'd  regions  of  serener  grace 
On  Horeb,  with  Elijah,  let  us  lie, 
Where  all  around  on  mountain,  sand,  and  sky, 

God's  chariot-wheels  have  left  distinctest  trace 

There,  if  in  jealousy  and  strong  disdain 
We  to  the  sinner's  God  of  sin  complain, 

18  (205) 


20G  NINTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

Untimely  seeking  here  the  peace  of  Heaven — 
"  It  is  enough,  0  Lord  !  now  let  me  die 
"  Even  as  my  fathers  did  :  for  what  am  I 

"  That  I  should  stand,  where  they  have  vainly 
striven  ?" — 

Perhaps  our  God  may  of  our  conscience  ask, 

"  What  doest  thou  here,  frail  wanderer  from  thy  task  ? 

"  Where   hast  thou  left  those  few  sheep  in  the 
wild?"1 
Then  should  we  plead  our  heart's  consuming  pain, 
At  sight  of  ruin'd  altars,  prophets  slain, 

And  God's  own  ark  with  blood  of  souls  defil'd ; 

He  on  the  rock  may  bid  us  stand,  and  see 
The  outskirts  of  His  march  of  mystery, 

His  endless  warfare  with  man's  wilful  heart ; 
First,  His  great  Power  He  to  the  sinner  shows, 
Lo !  at  His  angry  blast  the  rocks  unclose, 

And  to  their  base  the  trembling  mountains  part : 

Yet  the  Lord  is  not  here :  'tis  not  by  Power 
He  will  be  known — but  darker  tempests  lower ; 

Still,  sullen  heavings  vex  the  labouring  ground  : 
Perhaps  His  Presence  thro'  all  depth  and  height, 
Best  of  all  gems,  that  deck  His  crown  of  light, 

The  haughty  eye  may  dazzle  and  confound. 

i  1  Samuel  xvii.  28. 


NINTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  207 

God  is  not  in  the  earthquake ;   but  behold 
From  Sinai's  caves  are  bursting,  as  of  old, 

The  flames  of  His  consuming  jealous  ire. 
Woe  to  the  sinner,  should  stern  Justice  prove 
His  chosen  attribute ; — but  He  in  love 

Hastes  to  proclaim,  "  God  is  not  in  the  fire." 

The  storm  is  o'er — and  hark !  a  still  small  voice 
Steals  on  the  ear,  to  say,  Jehovah's  choice 

Is  ever  with  the  soft,  meek,  tender  soul : 
By  soft,  meek,  tender  ways  He  loves  to  draw 
The  sinner,  startled  by  His  ways  of  awe : 

Here  is  our  Lord,  and  not  where  thunders  roll. 

Back  then,  complainer ;  loath  thy  life  no  more, 
Nor  deem  thyself  upon  a  desert  shore, 

Because  the  rocks  the  nearer  prospect  close. 
Yet  in  fallen  Israel  are  there  hearts  and  eyes 
That  day  by  day  in  prayer  like  thine  arise : 

Thou  know'st  them  not,  but  their  Creator  knows. 

Go,  to  the  world  return,  nor  fear  to  cast 
Thy  bread  upon  the  waters,  sure  at  lastk 

In  joy  to  find  it  after  many  days. 
The  work  be  thine,  the  fruit  thy  children's  part : 
Choose  to  believe,  not  see  :  sight  tempts  the  heart 

From  sober  walking  in  true  Gospel  ways. 

k  Eeclesiastes  xi.  1. 


TENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 


And  when  He  was  come  near,  He  beheld  the  city,  and  wept  over  it.     St.  Luke 

zix.  41. 


Why  doth  my  Saviour  weep 

At  sight  of  Sion's  bowers  ? 
Shews  it  not  fair  from  yonder  steep, 

Her  gorgeous  crown  of  towers? 
Mark  well  His  holy  pains  : 

'Tis  not  in  pride  or  scorn, 
That  Israel's  King  with  sorrow  stains 

His  own  triumphal  morn. 

It  is  not  that  His  soul 

Is  wandering  sadly  on, 
In  thought  how  soon  at  death's  dark  goal 

Their  course  will  all  be  run, 
Who  now  are  shouting  round 

Hosanna  to  their  chief; 
No  thought  like  this  in  Him  is  found, 

This  were  a  Conqueror's  grief.1 

1  Compare  Herod,  vii.  46. 

(208) 


TENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  209 


Or  doth  He  feel  the  Cross 

Already  in  His  heart, 
The  pain,  the  shame,  the  scorn,  the  loss  ? 

Feel  even  his  God  depart  ? 
No :  though  He  knew  full  well 

The  grief  that  then  shall  be — 
The  grief  that  angels  cannot  tell — 

Our  God  in  agony. 

It  is  not  thus  He  mourns ; 

Such  might  be  martyr's  tears, 
When  his  last  lingering  look  he  turns 

On  human  hopes  and  fears ; 
But  hero  ne'er  or  saint 

The  secret  load  might  know, 
With  which  His  spirit  waxeth  faint ; 

His  is  a  Saviour's  woe. 

"  If  thou  hadst  known,  even  thou, 

"  At  least  in  this  thy  day, 
"  The  message  of  thy  peace  !  but  now 

"  Tis  passed  for  aye  away  : 
"  Now  foes  shall  trench  thee  round, 

"  And  lay  thee  even  with  earth, 
"And  dash  thy  children  to  the  ground, 

"  Thy  glory  and  thy  mirth." 

18* 


And  doth  the  Saviour  weep 

Over  His  people's  sin, 
Because  we  will  not  let  Him  keep 

The  souls  He  died  to  win  ? 
Ye  hearts,  that  love  the  Lord, 

If  at  this  sight  ye  burn, 
See  that  in  thought,  in  deed,  in  word, 

Ye  hate  what  made  Him  mourn. 


ELEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Is  it  a  time  to  receive  money,  and  to  receive  garments,  and  oliveyards,  and 
vineyards,  and  sheep,  and  oxen,  and  men-servants,  and  maid-servants  ? 

2  Kings  v.  20. 


Is  this  a  time  to  plant  and  build, 
Add  house  to  house,  and  field  to  field, 
When  round  our  walls  the  battle  lowers, 
When  mines  are  hid  beneath  our  towers, 
And  watchful  foes  are  stealing  round 
To  search  and  spoil  the  holy  ground  ? 

Is  this  a  time  for  moonlight  dreams 
Of  love  and  home  by  mazy  streams, 
For  fancy  with  her  shadowy  toys, 
Aerial  hopes  and  pensive  joys, 
While  souls  are  wandering  far  and  wide 
And  curses  swarm  on  every  side  ? 

No — rather  steel  thy  melting  heart 
To  act  the  martyr's  sternest  part, 

(211) 


212  ELEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY, 


To  watch,  with  firm  unshrinking  eye, 
Thy  darling  visions  as  they  die, 
Till  all  bright  hopes,  and  hues  of  day, 
Have  faded  into  twilight  gray. 

Yes — let  them  pass  without  a  sigh, 

And  if  the  world  seem  dull  and  dry, 

If  long  and  sad  thy  lonely  hours, 

And  winds  have  rent  thy  sheltering  bowers, 

Bethink  thee  what  thou  art  and  where, 

A  sinner  in  a  life  of  care. 

The  fire  of  God  is  soon  to  fall 
(Thou  know'st  it)  on  this  earthly  ball ; 
Full  many  a  soul,  the  price  of  blood, 
Mark'd  by  th'  Almighty's  hand  for  good, 
To  utter  death  that  hour  shall  sweep — 
And  will  the  Saints  in  Heaven  dare  weep  ? 

Then  in  His  wrath  shall  God  uproot 
The  trees  He  set,  for  lack  of  fruit, 
And  drown  in  rude  tempestuous  blaze 
The  towers  His  hand  had  deign'd  to  raise ; 
In  silence,  ere  that  storm  begin, 
Count  o'er  His  mercies  and  thy  sin. 

Pray  only  that  thine  aching  heart, 
From  visions  vain  content  to  part, 


ELEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  213 


Strong  for  love's  sake  its  woe  to  hide 
May  cheerful  wait  the  Cross  beside, 
Too  happy  if,  that  dreadful  day, 
Thy  life  be  given  thee  for  a  prey.1" 

Snatch'd  sudden  from  th'  avenging  rod, 
Safe  in  the  bosom  of  thy  God, 
How  wilt  thou  then  look  back,  and  smile 
On  thoughts  that  bitterest  seem'd  erewhile, 
And  bless  the  pangs  that  made  thee  see 
This  was  no  world  of  rest  for  thee  ! 


m  The  Lord  saith  thus;  Behold,  that  which  I  have  built  will  I  break  down, 
and  that  which  I  have  planted  I  will  pluck  up,  even  this  whole  land.  And 
seekest  thou  great  things  for  thyself?  seek  them  not:  for,  behold,  I  will  bring 
evil  upon  all  flesh,  saith  the  Lord  :  but  thy  life  will  I  give  unto  thee  for  a  prey 
in  all  places  whither  thou  goest.     Jeremiah  xlv.  4,  5. 


TWELFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


And  looking  up  to  Heaven,  He  sighed,  and  saith  unto  him,  Ephphatha,  that 
is,  Be  opened.     St.  Mark  vii.  31. 


The  Son  of  God  in  doing  good 

Was  fain  to  look  to  Heaven  and  sigh : 
And  shall  the  heirs  of  sinful  blood 

Seek  joy  unmix'd  in  charity  ? 
God  will  not  let  Love's  work  impart 
Full  solace,  lest  it  steal  the  heart ; 
Be  thou  content  in  tears  to  sow, 
Blessing,  like  Jesus,  in  thy  woe : 

He  look'd  to  Heaven,  and  sadly  sigh'd — 
What  saw  my  gracious  Saviour  there, 
With  fear  and  anguish  to  divide 

The  joy  of  Heaven-accepted  prayer  ? 
So  o'er  the  bed  where  Lazarus  slept 
He  to  His  Father  groan'd  and  wept : 
What  saw  He  mournful  in  that  crave. 
Knowing  Himself  so  strong  to  save  ? 

(214) 


TWELFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  215 

O'envhelming  thoughts  of  pain  and  grief 

Over  Plis  sinking  spirit  sweep ; — 
"  What  boots  it  gathering  one  lost  leaf 

"  Out  of  yon  sere  and  wither'd  heap, 
"  Where  souls  and  bodies,  hopes  and  joys, 
"  All  that  earth  owns  or  sin  destroys, 
"  Under  the  spurning  hoof  are  cast, 
"Or  tossing  in  th'  autumnal  blast?" 

The  deaf  may  hear  the  Saviour's  voice, 
The  fetter'd  tongue  its  chain  may  break ; 

But  the  deaf  heart,  the  dumb  by  choice, 
The  laggard  soul,  that  will  not  wake, 

The  guilt  that  scorns  to  be  forgiven;  — 

These  baffle  e'en  the  spells  of  Heaven ; 

In  thought  of  these,  His  brows  benign 

Not  even  in  healing  cloudless  shine. 

No  eye  but  His  might  ever  bear 

To  gaze  all  down  that  drear  abyss, 
Because  none  ever  saw  so  clear 

The  shore  beyond  of  endless  bliss  : 
The  giddy  waves  so  restless  hurl'd, 
The  vex'd  pulse  of  this  feverish  world, 
He  views  and  counts  with  steady  sight, 
Used  to  behold  the  Infinite. 


216  TWELFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

But  that  in  such  communion  high 
He  hath  a  fount  of  strength  within, 

Sure  His  meek  heart  would  break  and  die, 
O'erburthen'd  by  His  brethren's  sin ; 

Weak  eyes  on  darkness  dare  not  gaze, 

It  dazzles  like  the  noon-day  blaze ; 

But  He  who  sees  God's  face  may  brook 

On  the  true  face  of  Sin  to  look. 

What  then  shall  wretched  sinners  do, 

When  in  their  last,  their  hopeless  day, 
Sin,  as  it  is,  shall  meet  their  view, 
God  turn  His  face  for  aye  away  ? 
Lord,  by  Thy  sad  and  earnest  eye, 
When  Thou  didst  look  to  Heaven  and  sigh; 
Thy  voice,  that  with  a  word  could  chase 
The  dumb,  deaf  spirit  from  his  place; 

• 

As  Thou  hast  touch'd  our  ears,  and  taught 
Our  tongues  to  speak  Thy  praises  plain, 
Quell  Thou  each  thankless  godless  thought 

That  would  make  fast  our  bonds  again. 
From  worldly  strife,  from  mirth  unblest, 
Drowning  Thy  music  in  the  breast, 
From  foul  reproach,  from  thrilling  fears, 
Preserve,  good  Lord,  Thy  servants'  ears. 


TWELFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRIHITi*. 


From  idle  words,  that  restless  throng 

And  haunt  our  hearts  when  we  would  pray, 
From  Pride's  false  chime,  and  jarring  wrong, 

Seal  Thou  my  lips,  and  guard  the  way : 
For  Thou  hast  sworn,  that  every  ear, 
Willing  or  loth,  Thy  trump  shall  hear, 
And  every  tongue  unchained  be 
To  own  no  hope,  no  God.  but  Thee. 


THIRTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


And  He  turned  Him  unto  His  disciples,  and  said  privately,  Blessed  are  the 
eyes  which  see  the  things  that  ye  see:  for  I  tell  you,  that  many  prophets  and 
kings  have  desired  to  see  those  things  which  ye  see,  and  have  not  seen  them  : 
and  to  hear  those  things  which  ye  hear,  and  have  not  heard  them.  St.  Luke 
x.  23,  24. 


On  Sinai's  top,  in  prayer  and  trance, 
Full  forty  nights  and  forty  days 

The  Prophet  watch'd  for  one  dear  glance 
Of  Thee  and  of  Thy  ways  : 

Fasting  he  watch'd  and  all  alone, 

Wrapt  in  a  still,  dark,  solid  cloud, 
The  curtain  of  the  Holy  One 
Drawn  round  him  like  a  shroud  : 

So,  separate  from  the  world,  his  breast 
Might  duly  take  and  strongly  keep 

The  print  of  Heaven,  to  be  express'd 
Ere  long  on  Sion's  steep." 

n  See  that  thou  make  all  things  according  to  the  pattern  shewed  to  thee  in 

the  mount.     Hebrews  viii.  5. 

(218) 


-;?-••■ 


DM    TMfc    : 


There  one  by  one  his  spirit  saw 

Of  things  divine  the  shadows  bright, 

The  pageant  of  God's  perfect  law  j 
Yet  felt  not  full  delight. 

Through  gold  and  gems,  a  dazzling  maze, 

From  veil  to  veil  the  vision  led, 
And  ended,  where  unearthly  rays 

From  o'er  the  ark  were  shed. 

Yet  not  that  gorgeous  place,  nor  aught 

Of  human  or  angelic  frame, 
Could  half  appease  his  craving  thought ; 

The  void  was  still  the  same. 

"  Shew  me  Thy  glory,  gracious  Lord  ! 

"'Tie  Thee,"  he  cries,  "not  Thine,  I  seek."°- 
Nay,  start  not  at  so  bold  a  word 

From  man,  frail  worm  and  weak  : 

The  spark  of  his  first  deathless  fire 
Yet  buoys  him  up,  and  high  above 

The  holiest  creature,  dares  aspire 
To  the  Creator's  love. 

The  eye  in  smiles  may  wander  round, 
Caught  by  earth's  shadows  as  they  fleet; 

But  for  the  soul  no  help  is  found, 
Save  Him  who  made  it,  meet. 

0  Exodus  xxxiii.  18. 

"  ~  _  ; 


J 


--0  THIRTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

Spite  of  yourselves,  ye  witness  this/ 
Who  blindly  self  or  sense  adore ; 

Else  wherefore  leaving  your  own  bliss 
Still  restless  ask  ye  more  ? 

This  witness  bore  the  saints  of  old 
When  highest  rapt  and  favour'd  most, 

Still  seeking  precious  things  untold, 
Not  in  fruition  lost. 

Canaan  was  theirs,  and  in  it  all 

The  proudest  hope  of  kings  dare  claim ; 

Sion  was  theirs ;  and  at  their  call 
Fire  from  Jehovah  came. 

Yet  monarchs  walk'd  as  pilgrims  still 

In  their  own  land,  earth's  pride  and  grace ; 

And  seers  would  mourn  on  Sion's  hill 
Their  Lord's  averted  face. 

Vainly  they  tried  the  deeps  to  sound 
Even  of  their  own  prophetic  thought, 

When  of  Christ  crucified  and  crown'd 
His  spirit  in  them  taught : 

But  He  their  aching  gaze  repress'd 
Which  sought  behind  the  veil  to  see, 

For  not  without  us  fully  bless'dq 
Or  perfect  might  they  be. 

P   Pensees  de  Pascal,  part  1,  art.  viii. 

*  That  they  without  us  should  not  be  made  perfect.     Hebrews  xi.  40. 


THIRTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

The  rays  of  the  Almighty's  face 
No  sinner's  eye  might  then  receive ; 

Only  the  meekest  man  found  grace'" 
Too  see  His  skirts  and  live. 

But  we  as  in  a  glass  espy 

The  glory  of  His  countenance, 

Not  in  a  whirlwind  hurrying  by 
The  too  presumptuous  glance, 

But  with  mild  radiance  every  hour, 
From  our  dear  Saviour's  face  benign 

Bent  on  us  with  transforming  power, 
Till  we,  too,  faintly  shine. 

Sprinkled  with  His  atoning  blood 
Safely  before  our  God  we  stand, 

As  on  the  rock  the  Prophet  stood, 
Beneath  His  shadowing  hand. — 

Bless'd  eyes,  which  see  the  things  we  see ! 

And  yet  this  tree  of  life  hath  prov'd 
To  many  a  soul  a  poison  tree, 

Beheld,  and  not  belov'd. 

So  like  an  angel's  is  our  bliss 

(Oh  !  thought  to  comfort  and  appal) 

It  needs  must  bring,  if  us'd  amiss, 
An  angel's  hopeless  fall. 

19*  »  Exod.  xxxiii.  20—23. 


221 


FOURTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY, 


And  Jesus  answering  said,  Were  there  not  ten  cleansed?  but  where  are  the 
nine  ?  There  are  not  found  that  returned  to  give  glory  to  God,  save  this 
stranger.     St.  Luke  xvii.  ] 7   18. 


Ten  cleans'd,  and  only  one  remain ! 

Who  would  have  thought  our  nature's  stain 

Was  dyed  so  foul,  so  deep  in  grain  ? 

Even  He  who  reads  the  heart, — 
Knows  what  He  gave  and  what  we  lost, 
Sin's  forfeit,  and  redemption's  cost, — 
By  a  short  pang  of  wonder  cross'd 

Seems  at  the  sight  to  start : 

Yet  'twas  not  wonder,  but  His  love 
Our  wavering  spirits  would  reprove, 
That  heaven-ward  seem  so  free  to  move 

When  earth  can  yield  no  more : 
Then  from  afar  on  God  we  cry ; 
But  should  the  mist  of  woe  roll  by, 
Not  showers  across  an  April  sky 

Drift,  when  the  storm  is  o'er, 

(222) 


FOURTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


223 


Faster  than  those  false  drops  and  few 
Fleet  from  the  heart,  a  worthless  dew. 
What  sadder  scene  can  angels  view 

Than  self-deceiving  tears, 
Pour'd  idly  over  some  dark  page 
Of  earlier  life,  though  pride  or  rage 
The  record  of  to-day  engage, 

A  woe  for  future  years  ? 

Spirits,  that  round  the  sick  man's  bed 
Watch'd,  noting  down  each  prayer  he  made, 
Were  your  unerring  roll  display'd, 

His  pride  of  health  to'  abase ; 
Or,  when  soft  showers  in  season  fall 
Answering  a  famish'd  nation's  call, 
Should  unseen  ringers  on  the  wall 

Our  vows  forgotten  trace ; 


How  should  we  gaze  in  trance  of  fear ! 
Yet  shines  the  light  as  thrilling  clear 
From  Heaven  upon  that  scroll  severe,  ■ 

"  Ten  cleans'd  and  one  remain  !" 
Nor  surer  would  the  blessing  prove 
Of  humbled  hearts,  that  own  Thy  love, 
Should  choral  welcome  from  above 

Visit  our  senses  plain  : 


224  FOURTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

Than  by  Thy  placid  voice  and  brow, 
With  healing  first,  with  comfort  now, 
Turn'd  upon  him,  who  hastes  to  bow 

Before  Thee,  heart  and  knee ; 
"  Oh  !  thou,  who  only  wouldst  be  blest, 
"  On  thee  alone  My  blessing  rest ! 
"  Rise,  go  thy  way  in  peace,  possess'd 

"  For  evermore  of  Me/' 


FIFTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field,  how  they  grow.     St.  Matthew  vi.  28. 

Sweet  nurslings  of  the  vernal  skies, 

Bath'd  in  soft  airs,  and  fed  with  dew, 
What  more  than  magic  in  you  lies, 

To  fill  the  heart's  fond  view  ? 
In  childhood's  sports,  companions  gay, 
In  sorrow,  on  Life's  downward  way, 
How  soothing  !  in  our  last  decay 
Memorials  prompt  and  true. 

Relics  ye  are  of  Eden's  bowers, 
As  pure,  as  fragrant,  and  as  fair, 

As  when  ye  crown'd  the  sunshine  hours 
Of  happy  wanderers  there. 

Fall'n  all  beside — the  world  of  life, 

How  is  it  stain'd  with  fear  and  strife ! 

In  Reason's  world  what  storms  are  rife, 
What  passions  range  and  glare ! 

(225) 


226  FIFTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

But  cheerful  and  unchang'd  the  while 
Your  first  and  perfect  form  ye  show, 

The  same  that  won  Eve's  matron  smile 
In  the  world's  opening  glow. 

The  stars  of  heaven  a  course  are  taught 

Too  high  above  our  human  thought ; 

Ye  may  be  found  if  ye  are  sought, 
And  as  we  gaze,  we  know. 

Ye  dwell  beside  our  paths  and  homes, 

Our  paths  of  sin,  our  homes  of  sorrow, 
And  guilty  man,  where'er  he  roams, 
Your  innocent  mirth  may  borrow. 
The  birds  of  air  before  us  fleet, 
They  cannot  brook  our  shame  to  meet — 
But  we  may  taste  your  solace  sweet 
And  come  again  to-morrow. 

Ye  fearless  in  your  nests  abide — 

Nor  may  we  scorn,  too  proudly  wise, 
Your  silent  lessons,  undescried 

By  all  but  lowly  eyes  : 
For  ye  could  draw  th'  admiring  gaze 
Of  Him  who  worlds  and  hearts  surveys: 
Your  order  wild,  your  fragrant  maze, 
He  taught  us  how  to  prize. 


FIFTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  227 

Ye  felt  your  Maker's  smile  that  hour, 
As  when  He  paus'd  and  own'd  you  good  ; 
His  blessing  on  earth's  primal  bower, 

Ye  felt  it  all  renew'd. 
What  care  ye  now,  if  winter's  storm 
Sweep  ruthless  o'er  each  silken  form  ? 
Christ's  blessing  at  your  heart  is  warm, 

Ye  fear  no  vexing  mood. 

Alas !  of  thousand  bosoms  kind, 

That  daily  court  you  and  caress, 
How  few  the  happy  secret  find 

Of  your  calm  loveliness  ! 
"  Live  for  to-day  !  to-morrow's  light 
"  To-morrow's  cares  shall  bring  to  sight, 
"  Go  sleep  like  closing  flowers  at  night, 

"  And  Heaven  thy  morn  will  bless." 


SIXTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


I  desire  that  ye  faint  not  at  my  tribulations  for  you,  which  is  your  glory. 
Ephcslans  iii.  13. 


Wish  not,  dear  friends,  my  pain  away — 
Wish  me  a  wise  and  thankful  heart, 

With  God,  in  all  my  griefs,  to  stay, 
Nor  from  His  lov'd  correction  start. 

The  dearest  offering  He  can  crave 
His  portion  in  our  souls  to  prove, 

What  is  it  to  the  gift  He  gave, 
The  only  Son  of  His  dear  love  ? 

But  we,  like  vex'd  unquiet  sprights, 
Will  still  be  hovering  o'er  the  tomb, 

Where  buried  lie  our  vain  delights, 
Nor  sweetly  take  a  sinner's  doom. 

In  Life's  long  sickness  evermore 

Our  thoughts  are  tossing  to  and  fro : 

We  change  our  posture  o'er  and  o'er, 
But  cannot  rest,  nor  cheat  our  woe. 

(228) 


Were  it  not  better  to  lie  still, 

Let  Him  strike  home  and  bless  the  rod, 
Never  so  safe  as  when  our  will 

Yields  undiscern'd  by  all  but  God  ? 

Thy  precious  things,  whate'er  they  be 

That  haunt  and  vex  thee,  heart  and  brain, 

Look  to  the  Cross,  and  thou  shalt  see 
How  thou  mayst  turn  them  all  to  gain. 

Lovest  thou  praise  ?  the  Cross  is  shame  : 
Or  ease?  the  Cross  is  bitter  grief: 

More  pangs  than  tongue  or  heart  can  frame 
Were  suffer'd  there  without  relief. 

We  of  that  altar  would  partake, 

But  cannot  quit  the  cost — no  throne 

Is  ours,  to  leave  for  Thy  dear  sake — 
We  cannot  do  as  Thou  hast  done. 

We  cannot  part  with  Heaven  for  Thee — 
Yet  guide  us  in  Thy  track  of  love  : 

Let  us  gaze  on  where  light  should  be, 
Though  not  a  beam  the  clouds  remove. 

So  wanderers  ever  fond  and  true 

Look  homeward  through  the  evening  sky, 

Without  a  streak  of  heaven's  soft  blue 

To  aid  Affection's  dreaming  eye. 
20 


230  SIXTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

The  wanderer  seeks  his  native  bower, 
And  we  will  look  and  long  for  Thee. 

And  thank  Thee  for  each  trying  hour, 
Wishing,  not  struggling,  to  be  free. 


SEVENTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Every  man  of  the  house  of  Israel  that  setteth  up  his  idols  in  his  heart,  and 
putteth  the  stumbling-block  of  his  iniquity  before  his  face,  and  cometh  to  the 
Prophet;  I  the  Lord  will  answer  him  that  cometh  according  to  the  multitude 
of  his  idols.     Exekiel  xiv.  4. 


Stately  thy  walls,  and  holy  are  the  prayers 
Which  day  and  night  before  thine  altars  rise ; 

Not  statelier,  towering  o'er  her  marble  stairs, 
Flash'd  Sion's  gilded  dome  to  summer  skies, 

Not  holier,  while  around  him  angels  bow'd, 

From  Aaron's  censer  steam'd  the  spicy  cloud, 

Before  the  mercy-seat.     0  Mother  dear, 
Wilt  thou  forgive  thy  son  one  boding  sigh  ? 
Forgive,  if  round  thy  towers  he  walk  in  fear, 
And  tell  thy  jewels  o'er  with  jealous  eye  ? 
Mindful  of  that  sad  vision,  which  in  thought3 
From  Chebar's  plains  the  captive  prophet  brought 

"  Ezekiel  viii.  3. 

(231) 


To  see  lost  Sion's  shame.     'Twas  morning  prime, 
And  like  a  Queen  new  seated  on  her  throne, 

God's  crowned  mountain,  as  in  happier  time, 
Seem'd  to  rejoice  in  sunshine  all  her  own : 

So  bright,  while  all  in  shade  around  her  lay, 

Her  northern  pinnacles  had  caught  th'  emerging  ray. 

The  dazzling  lines  of  her  majestic  roof 

Cross'd  with  as  free  a  span  the  vault  of  heaven, 

As  when  twelve  tribes  knelt  silently  aloof 
Ere  God  His  answer  to  their  king  had  given,' 

Ere  yet  upon  the  new-built  altar  fell 

The  glory  of  the  Lord,  the  Lord  of  Israel. 

All  seems  the  same :  but  enter  in  and  see 

What  idol  shapes  are  on  the  wall  pourtray'd  :u 

And  watch  their  shameless  and  unhoty  glee, 
Who  worship  there  in  Aaron's  robes  array 'd  : 

Hear  Judah's  maids  the  dirge  to  Thammuz  pour,* 

And  mark  her  chiefs  yon  orient  sun  adore. y 

Yet  turn  thee,  son  of  man — for  worse  than  these 
Thou  must  behold  :  thy  loathing  were  but  lost 

On  dead  men's  crimes,  and  Jews'  idolatries — 
Come,  learn  to  tell  aright  thine  own  sins'  cost, — 

And  sure  their  sin  as  far  from  equals  thine, 

As  earthly  hopes  abus'd  are  less  than  hopes  divine 

t  1  Kings  viii.  5.  u  Ezekiel  viii.  10. 

x  Ezekiel  viii.  14.  y  Ezekiel  viii.  16. 


SEVENTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  233 


What  if  within  His  world,  His  Church,  our  Lord 
Have  enter'd  thee,  as  in  some  temple  gate, 

Where,  looking  round,  each  glance  might  thee  afford 
Some  glorious  earnest  of  thine  high  estate, 

And  thou,  false  heart  and  frail,  hast  turn'd  from  all 

To  worship  pleasure's  shadow  on  the  wall  ? 

If,  when  the  Lord  of  Glory  was  in  sight, 

Thou  turn  thy  back  upon  that  fountain  clear, 

To  bow  before  the  "  little  drop  of  light," 

Which  dim-eyed  men  call  praise  and  glory  here ; 

What  dost  thou,  but  adore  the  sun,  and  scorn 

Him  at  whose  only  word  both  sun  and  stars  were 
born  ? 

If,  while  around  thee  gales  from  Eden  breathe, 
Thou  hide  thine  eyes,  to  make  thy  peevish  moan 

Over  some  broken  reed  of  earth  beneath, 
Some  darling  of  blind  fancy  dead  and  gone, 

As  wisely  mightst  thou  in  Jehovah's  fane 

Offer  thy  love  and  tears  to  Thammuz  slain. 

Turn  thee  from  these,  or  dare  not  to  inquire 
Of  Him  whose  name  is  Jealous,  lest  in  wrath 

He  hear  and  answer  thine  unblest  desire  : 

Far  better  we  should  cross  His  lightning's  path 

Than  be  according  to  our  idols  heard, 

And  God  should  take  us  at  our  own  vain  word. 

20* 


234  SEVENTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

Thou  who  hast  deign'd  the  Christian's  heart  to  call 
Thy  Church  and  Shrine ;  whene'er  our  rebel  will 

Would  in  that  chosen  home  of  Thine  instal 
Belial  or  Mammon,  grant  us  not  the  ill 

We  blindly  ask ;  in  very  love  refuse 

Whate'er  Thou  know'st  our  weakness  would  abuse. 

Or  rather  help  us,  Lord,  to  choose  the  good, 
To  pray  for  nought,  to  seek  to  none,  but  Thee, 

Nor  by  "  our  daily  bread"  mean  common  food, 
Nor  say,  "  From  this  world's  evil  set  us  free ;" 

Teach  us  to  love,  with  Christ,  our  sole  true  bliss, 

Else,  though  in  Christ's  own  words,  we  surely  pray 
amiss. 


EIGHTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


I  will  bring  you  into  the  wilderness  of  the  people,  and  theie  will  I  plead  with 
you  face  to  face.  Like  as  I  pleaded  with  your  fathers  in  the  wilderness  of  the 
land  of  Egypt,  so  will  I  plead  with  you,  saith  the  Lord  God.  Ezekiel  xx.  35, 
36. 


It  is  so — -ope  thine  eyes,  and  see — 
What  view'st  thou  all  around? 

A  desert,  where  iniquity 

And  knowledge  both  abound. 

In  the  waste  howling  wilderness 

The  Church  is  wandering  still,* 

Because  we  would  not  onward  press 
When  close  to  Sion's  hill. 

Back  to  the  world  we  faithless  turn'd, 

And  far  along  the  wild, 
With  labour  lost  and  sorrow  earn'd, 

Our  steps  have  been  beguil'd. 

1  Revelations  xii.  14. 

(235) 


236  EIGHTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

Yet  full  before  us,  all  the  while, 
The  shadowing  pillar  stays, 

The  living  waters  brightly  smile, 
Th'  eternal  turrets  blaze. 

Yet  Heaven  is  raining  angels'  bread 

To  be  our  daily  food, 
And  fresh,  as  when  it  first  was  shed, 

Springs  forth  the  Saviour's  blood. 

From  every  region,  race,  and  speech, 
Believing  myriads  throng, 

Till,  far  as  sin  and  sorrow  reach, 
Thy  grace  is  spread  along ; 

Till  sweetest  nature,  brightest  art, 
Their  votive  incense  bring, 

And  every  voice  and  every  heart 
Own  Thee  their  God  and  King. 

All  own ;  but  few,  alas !  will  love ; 

Too  like  the  recreant  band 
That  with  Thy  patient  Spirit  strove 

Upon  the  Red-sea  strand. 

0  Father  of  long-suffering  grace, 
Thou  who  hast  sworn  to  stay 

Pleading  with  sinners  face  to  face 
Through  all  their  devious  way ; 


EIGHTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  2Bi 

How  shall  we  speak  to  Thee,  0  Lord, 

Or  how  in  silence  lie  ? 
Look  on  us,  and  we  are  abhorr'd, 

Turn  from  us,  and  we  die. 

Thy  guardian  fire,  Thy  guiding  cloud, 

Still  let  them  gild  our  wall, 
Nor  be  our  foes  and  Thine  allow'd 

To  see  us  faint  and  fall. 

Too  oft,  within  this  camp  of  Thine, 

Rebellious  murmurs  rise ; 
Sin  cannot  bear  to  see  Thee  shine 

So  awful  to  her  eyes. 

Fain  would  our  lawless  hearts  escape, 

And  with  the  heathen  be, 
To  worship  every  monstrous  shape 

In  fancied  darkness  free. 

Vain  thought,  that  shall  not  be  at  all  !a 

Refuse  we  or  obey, 
Our  ears  have  heard  th'  Almighty's  call, 

We  cannot  be  as  they. 

a  That  which  cometh  into  your  mind  shall  not  be  at  all,  that  ye  say,  TVe 
will  be  as  the  heathen,  as  the  families  of  the  countries,  to  serve  wood  and 
stone.     Exekiel  xx.  32. 


238  EIGHTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

We  cannot  hope  the  heathen's  doom 
To  whom  God's  Son  is  given, 

Whose  eyes  have  seen  beyond  the  tomb, 
Who  have  the  key  of  Heaven. 

Weak  tremblers  on  the  edge  of  woe, 
Yet  shrinking  from  true  bliss, 

Our  rest  must  be  "  no  rest  below," 
And  let  our  prayer  be  this  : 

"  Lord,  wave  again  thy  chastening  rod, 

"  Till  every  idol  throne 
"  Crumble  to  dust,  and  Thou,  0  God, 

"  Reign  in  our  hearts  alone. 

"  Bring  all  our  wandering  fancies  home, 
"  For  Thou  hast  every  spell, 

"  And  mid  the  heathen  where  they  roam, 
"  Thou  knowest,  Lord,  too  well. 

"  Thou  know'st  our  service  sad  and  hard, 
"Thou  know'st  us  fond  and  frail ;  — 

"  Win  us  to  be  belov'd  and  spar'd 
"  When  all  the  world  shall  fail. 

"  So  when  at  last  our  weary  days 
"  Are  well-nigh  wasted  here, 

"  And  we  can  trace  Thy  wondrous  ways 
"  In  distance  calm  and  clear, 


"  Wlien  in  Thy  love  and  Israel's  sin 

tt  \ye  read  our  story  true, 
"  We  may  not,  all  too  late,  begin 

"  To  wish  our  hopes  were  new  : 

"  Long  lov'd,  long  tried,  long  spar'd  as  they 

"  Unlike  in  this  alone, 
"  That,  by  Thy  grace,  our  hearts  shall  stay 

"  For  evermore  Thine  own." 


NINETEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Then  Nebuchadnezzar  the  king  was  astonied,  and  rose  up  in  haste,  and 
spake,  and  said  unto  his  counsellors,  Did  not  we  cast  three  men  bound  into  the 
midst  of  the  fire?  They  answered  and  said  unto  the  king,  True,  0  king.  He 
answered  and  said,  Lo,  I  see  four  men  loose,  walking  in  the  midst  of  the  fire, 
and  they  have  no  hurt;  and  the  form  of  the  fourth  is  like  the  Son  of  God. 

Daniel  iii.  21,  25. 


When  Persecution's  torrent  blaze 

Wraps  the  unshrinking  Martyr's  head ; 

When  fade  all  earthly  flowers  and  bays, 
When  summer  friends  are  gone  and  fled, 

Is  he  alone  in  that  dark  hour 

Who  owns  the  Lord  of  love  and  power  ? 

Or  waves  there  not  around  his  brow 
A  wand  no  human  arm  may  wield, 

Fraught  with  a  spell  no  angels  know, 
His  steps  to  guide,  his  soul  to  shield  ? 

Thou,  Saviour,  art  his  Charmed  Bower, 

His  Magic  Ring,  his  Rock,  his  Tower. 

(240) 


NINETEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  241 

ft 

And  when  the  wicked  ones  behold 
Thy  favourites  walking  in  Thy  light, 

Just  as,  in  .fancied  triumph  bold, 

They  deern'd  them  lost  in  deadly  night, 

Amaz'd  they  cry,  "  What  spell  is  this, 

"  Which  turns  their  sufferings  all  to  bliss  ? 

"  How  are  they  free  whom  we  had  bound, 
"  Upright,  whom  in  the  gulf  we  cast  ? 

"  What  wondrous  helper  have  they  found 
"  To  screen  them  from  the  scorching  blast  ? 

"  Three  were  they — who  hath  made  them  four  ? 

"  And  sure  a  form  divine  he  wore, 

"  Even  like  the  Son  of  God."  So  cried 
The  Tyrant,  when  in  one  fierce  flame 

The  Martyrs  liv'd,  the  murderers  died  : 
Yet  knew  he  not  what  angel  came 

To  make  the  rushing  fire-flood  seem 

Like  summer  breeze  by  woodland  stream. b 

He  knew  not,  but  there  are  who  know: 
The  Matron,  who  alone  hath  stood, 

When  not  a  prop  seem'd  left  below, 
The  first  lorn  hour  of  widowhood, 

Yet  cheer'd  and  cheering  all,  the  while, 

With  sad  but  unaffected  smile  ; — 

b   As  it  had  been   a  moist  whistling  wind.      Sony  of  the   Three   Children, 

ver.  27. 

21 


242  NINETEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


The  Father,  who  his  vigil  keeps 

By  the  sad  couch  whence  hope  hath  flown, 
Watching  the  eye  where  reason  sleeps, 

Yet  in  his  heart  can  mercy  own, 
Still  sweetly  yielding  to  the  rod, 
Still  loving  man,  still  thanking  God  ; — 

The  Christian  Pastor,  bow'd  to  earth 
With  thankless  toil,  and  vile  esteem'd, 

Still  travailing  in  second  birth 

Of  souls  that  will  not  be  redeem'd, 

Yet  stedfast  set  to  do  his  part, 

And  fearing  most  his  own  vain  heart ; — 

These  know  :  on  these  look  long  and  well, 
Cleansing  thy  sight  by  prayer  and  faith, 

And  thou  shalt  know  what  secret  spell 
Preserves  them  in  their  living  death  : 

Through  sevenfold  flames  thine  eye  shall  see 

The  Saviour  walking  with  His  faithful  Three. 


TWENTIETH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Hear  ye,  0  mountains,  the  Lord's  controversy,  and  ye  strong  foundations  ot 
the  earth.     Micah  vi.  2. 


Where  is  Thy  favour'd  haunt,  eternal  Voice, 

The  region  of  Thy  choice, 
Where,  undisturb'd  by  sin  and  earth,  the  soul 

Owns  Thy  entire  control  ? — 
'Tis  on  the  mountain's  summit  dark  and  high, 

When  storms  are  hurrying  by : 
'Tis  'mid  the  strong  foundations  of  the  earth, 

Where  torrents  have  their  birth. 

No  sounds  of  worldly  toil  ascending  there, 

Mar  the  full  burst  of  prayer  ; 
Lone  Nature  feels  that  she  may  freely  breathe, 

And  round  us  and  beneath 
Are  heard  her  sacred  tones :  the  fitful  sweep 

Of  winds  across  the  steep, 
Through  wither'd  bents — romantic  note  and  clear, 

Meet  for  a  hermit's  ear, — 

(243) 


244  TWENTIETH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

The  wheeling  kite's  wild  solitary  cry, 

And,  scarcely  heard  so  high, 
The  dashing  waters  when  the  air  is  still 

From  many  a  torrent  rill 
That  winds  unseen  beneath  the  shaggy  fell, 

Track'd  by  the  blue  mist  well : 
Such  sounds  as  make  deep  silence  in  the  heart 

For  Thought  to  do  her  part. 

'Tis  then  we  hear  the  voice  of  God  within, 

Pleading  with  care  and  sin  : 
"  Child  of  My  love  !  how  have  I  wearied  thee  ? 

"  Why  wilt  thou  err  from  Me  ? 
"  Have  I  not  brought  thee  from  the  house  of  slaves, 

"  Parted  the  drowning  waves, 
"  And  set  My  saints  before  thee  in  the  way, 

"  Lest  thou  shouldst  faint  or  stray  ? 

"  What !  was  the  promise  made  to  thee  alone  ? 

"  Art  thou  th'  excepted  one  ? 
"  An  heir  of  glory  without  grief  or  pain  ? 

"  0  vision  false  and  vain  ! 
"  There  lies  thy  cross ;  beneath  it  meekly  bow ; 

"  It  fits  thy  stature  now : 
"  Who  scornful  pass  it  with  averted  eye, 

"  'Twill  crush  them  by  and  by. 


"  Raise  thy  repining  eyes,  and  take  true  measure 

"  Of  thine  eternal  treasure ; 
"  The  Father  of  thy  Lord  can  grudge  thee  nought, 

"  The  world  for  thee  was  bought, 
"And   as    this    landscape  broad, — earth,  sea,  and 
sky,— 

"  All  centres  in  thine  eye, 
"  So  all  God  does,  if  rightly  understood, 

"  Shall  work  thy  final  good." 


TWENTY-FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


The  vision  is  yet  for  an  appointed  time,  but  at  the  end  it  shall  speak,  and 
not  lie:  though  it  tarry,  wait  for  it ;  because  it  will  surely  come,  it  will  not 
tarry.     Habakkuk  ii.  3. 


The  morning  mist  is  clear'd  away, 

Yet  still  the  face  of  heaven  is  grey, 
Nor  yet  th'  autumnal  breeze  has  stirr'd  the  grove, 

Faded  yet  full,  a  paler  green 

Skirts  soberly  the  tranquil  scene, 
The  red-breast  warbles  round  this  leafy  cove. 

Sweet  messenger  of  "calm  decay," 

Saluting  sorrow  as  you  may, 
As  one  still  bent  to  find  or  make  the  best, 

In  thee,  and  in  this  quiet  mead. 

The  lesson  of  sweet  peace  I  read, 
Kather  in  all  to  be  resign'd  than  blest. 

Tis  a  low  chant,  according  well 
With  the  soft  solitary  knell, 

(246) 


TWENTY-FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  -47 

As  homeward  from  some  grave  belov'd  we  turn, 

Or  by  some  holy  death-bed  dear, 

Most  welcome  to  the  chasten'd  ear 
Of  her  whom  Heaven  is  teaching  how  to  mourn. 

0  cheerful  tender  strain  !  the  heart 

That  duly  bears  with  you  its  part, 
Singing  so  thankful  to  the  dreary  blast, 

Though  gone  and  spent  its  joyous  prime, 

And  on  the  world's  autumnal  time, 
'Mid  wither'd  hues  and  sere,  its  lot  be  cast : 

That  is  the  heart  for  thoughtful  seer, 

Watching,  in  trance  nor  dark  nor  clear,0 
Th'  appalling  Future  as  it  nearer  draws  : 

His  spirit  calm'd  the  storm  to  meet, 

Feeling  the  rock  beneath  his  feet, 
And  tracing  through  the  cloud  th'  eternal  Cause. 

That  is  the  heart  for  watchman  true 

Waiting  to  see  what  God  will  do, 
As  o'er  the  Church  the  gathering  twilight  falls : 

No  more  he  strains  his  wistful  eye, 

If  chance  the  golden  hours  be  nigh, 
By  youthful  Hope  seen  beaming  round  her  walls. 

c  It  shall  cotne  to  pass  in   that  day,  that  the  light  shall  not  be  clear,  nor 
dark.     Zee-hat  i«h  xiv.  C. 


24S  TWENTY-FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

! " 


Forc'd  from  his  shadowy  paradise, 

His  thoughts  to  Heaven  the  steadier  rise : 
There  seek  his  answer  when  the  world  reproves 

Contented  in  his  darkling  round, 

If  only  he  be  faithful  found, 
When  from  the  east  th'  eternal  morning  moves. 


Note  :    The  expression,  "  culm  decay,"  is  borrowed  from  a  friend  :  by  whose  kind 
permission  the  following  stanzas  are  here  inserted. 

TO  THE  RED-BREAST. 

Unheard  in  summer's  flaring  ra}', 

Pour  forth  thy  notes,  sweet  singer, 
Wooing  the  stillness  of  the  autumn  day : 
Bid  it  a  moment  linger, 
Nor  fly 
Too  soon  from  winter's  scowling  eye. 

The  blackbird's  song  at  even  tide, 

And  hers,  who  gay  ascends, 
Filling  the  heavens  far  and  wide, 

Are  sweet.     But  none  so  blends, 
As  thine, 
With  caim  decay,  and  peaoe  divine. 


TWENTY-SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Lord,  how  oft  shall  my  brother  sin  against  me,  and  I  forgive  him?      St. 
Matthew  xviii.  21. 


What  liberty  so  glad  and  gay, 
As  where  the  mountain  boy, 

Reckless  of  regions  far  away, 
A  prisoner  lives  in  joy  ? 

The  dreary  sounds  of  crowded  earth, 
The  cries  of  camp  or  town, 

Never  untun'd  his  lonely  mirth, 
Nor  drew  his  visions  down. 

The  snow-clad  peaks  of  rosy  light 
That  meet  his  morning  view, 

The  thwarting  cliffs  that  bound  his  si  edit, 
They  bound  his  fancy  too. 

Two  ways  alone  his  roving  eye 

For  aye  may  onward  go 
Or  in  the  azure  deep  on  high 

Or  darksome  mere  below. 

(249) 


250  TWENTY-SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

0  blest  restraint !  more  blessed  range  ! 

Too  soon  the  happy  child 
His  nook  of  homely  thought  will  change 

For  life's  seducing  wild  : 

Too  soon  his  alter'd  day-dreams  show 
This  earth  a  boundless  space, 

With  sun-bright  pleasures  to  and  fro 
Sporting  in  joyous  race  : 

While  of  his  narrowing  heart  each  year, 
Heaven  less  and  less  will  fill, 

Less  keenly,  through  his  grosser  ear, 
The  tones  of  mercy  thrill. 

It  must  be  so  :  else  wherefore  falls 
The  Saviours  voice  unheard, 

While  from  His  pard'ning  Cross  He  calls, 
"  0  spare  as  I  have  spar'd  ?" 

By  our  own  niggard  rule  we  try 
The  hope  to  suppliants  given ; 

We  mete  out  love,  as  if  our  eye 
Saw  to  the  end  of  heaven. 

Yes,  ransom'd  sinner !  wouldst  thou  know 

How  often  to  forgive, 
How  dearly  to  embrace  thy  foe, 

Look  where  thou  hop'st  to  live ; 


TWENTY-SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  £51 


When  thou  hast  told  those  isles  of  light, 

And  fancied  all  beyond, 
Whatever  owns,  in  depth  or  height, 

Creation's  wondrous  bond ; 

Then  in  their  solemn  pageant  learn 
Sweet  mercy's  praise  to  see  : 

Their  Lord  resign'd  them  all,  to  earn 
The  bliss  of  pardoning  thee. 


TWENTY-THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


Who  shall  change  our  vile  body,  that  it  may  be  fashioned  like  unto  His 
glorious  body,  according  to  the  working  whereby  He  is  able  even  to  subdue 
all  things  unto  Himself.     Philippians  iii.  21. 


Red  o'er  the  forest  peers  the  setting  sun, 
The  line  of  yellow  light  dies  fast  away 

That  crown'd  the  eastern  copse :  and  chill  and  dun 
Falls  on  the  moor  the  brief  November  day. 

Now  the  tir'd  hunter  winds  a  parting  note, 
And  Echo  bids   good-night  from  every  glade ; 

Yet  wait  awhile,  and  see  the  calm  leaves  float 
Each  to  his  rest  beneath  their  parent  shade. 

How  like  decaying  life  they  seem  to  glide ! 

And  yet  no  second  spring  have  they  in  store, 
But  where  they  fall,  forgotten  to  abide 

Is  all  their  portion,  and  they  ask  no  more. 

Soon  o'er  their  heads  blithe  April  airs  shall  sing, 
A  thousand  wild-flowers  round  them  shall  unfold, 

The  green  buds  glisten  in  the  dews  of  Spring, 
And  all  be  vernal  rapture  as  of  old. 

(252) 


TWENTY-THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  253 


Unconscious  they  in  waste  oblivion  lie, 
In  all  the  world  of  busy  life  around 

No  thought  of  them ;  in  all  the  bounteous  sky 
No  drop,  for  them,  of  kindly  influence  found. 

Mans  portion  is  to  die  and  rise  again — 

Yet  he  complains,  while  these  unmurmuring  part 

With  their  sweet  lives,  as  pure  from  sin  and  stain, 
As  his  when  Eden  held  his  virgin  heart. 

And  haply  half  unblam'd  his  murmuring  voice 
Might  sound  in  Heaven,  were  all  his  second  life 

Only  the  first  renew'd — the  heathen's  choice, 
A  round  of  listless  joy  and  weary  strife. 

For  dreary  were  this  earth,  if  earth  were  all, 
Though  brighten'd  oft  by  dear  affection's  kiss ; — 

Who  for  the  spangles  wears  the  funeral  pall  ? 
But  catch  a  gleam  beyond  it,  and  'tis  bliss. 

Heavy  and  dull  this  frame  of  limbs  and  heart, 
Whether  slow  creeping  on  cold  earth,  or  borne 

On  lofty  steed,  or  loftier  prow,  we  dart 

O'er  wave  or  field  :  yet  breezes  laugh  to  scorn 

Our  puny  speed,  and  birds,  and  clouds  in  heaven, 
And  fish,  like  living  shafts  that  pierce  the  main, 

And  stars  that  shoot  through  freezing:  air  at  even — 
Who  but  would  follow,  miorht  he  break  his  chain  ? 


And  thou  slialt  break  it  soon ;  the  grovelling  worm 
Shall  find  his  wings,  and  soar  as  fast  and  free 

As  his  transfigur'd  Lord  with  lightning  form 
And  snowy  vest — such  grace  He  won  for  thee, 

When  from  the  grave  He  sprung  at  dawn  of  morn, 
And  led  through  boundless  air  ihy  conquering 
road, 

Leaving  a  glorious  track,  where  saints,  new-born, 
Might  fearless  follow  to  their  blest  abode. 

But  first,  by  many  a  stern  and  fiery  blast 

The  world's  rude  furnace  must  thy  blood  refine, 

And  many  a  gale  of  keenest  woe  be  pass'd, 
Till  every  pulse  beat  true  to  airs  divine, 

Till  every  limb  obey  the  mounting  soul, 
The  mounting  soul,  the  call  by  Jesus  given. 

He  who  the  stormy  heart  can  so  control, 
The  laggard  body  soon  will  waft  to  Heaven. 


TWENTY-FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

The  heart  knoweth  his  own  bitterness;  and  a  stranger  cloth  not  intermeddle 
with  his  joy.     Proverbs  xiv.  10. 

Why  should  we  faint  and  fear  to  live  alone, 
Since  all  alone,  so  Heaven  has  will'd,  we  die/ 

Nor  even  the  tenderest  heart,  and  next  our  own, 
Knows  half  the  reasons  why  we  smile  and  sigh  ? 

Each  in  his  hidden  sphere  of  joy  or  woe 
Our  hermit  spirits  dwell,  and  range  apart, 

Our  eyes  see  all  around  in  gloom  or  glow — 

Hues  of  their  own,  fresh  borrow'd  from  the  heart. 

And  well  it  is  for  us  our  God  should  feel 
Alone  our  secret  throbbings  :  so  our  prayer 

May  readier  spring  to  Heaven,  nor  spend  its  zeal 
On  cloud-born  idols  of  this  lower  air. 

d  Je  inourrai  seul.     Pascal. 

(255) 


256  TWENTY-FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

For  if  one  heart  in  perfect  sympathy 

Beat  with  another,  answering  love  for  love, 

Weak  mortals,  all  entranc'd,  on  earth  would  lie, 
Nor  listen  for  those  purer  strains  above. 

Or  what  if  Heaven  for  once  its  searching  light 
Lent  to  some  partial  eye,  disclosing  all 

The  rude  bad  thoughts,  that  in  our  bosom's  night 
Wander  at  large,  nor  heed  Love's  gentle  thrall  ? 

Who  would  not  shun  the  dreary  uncouth  place? 

As  if,  fond  leaning  where  her  infant  slept, 
A  mother's  arm  a  serpent  should  embrace  : 

So  might  we  friendless  live,  and  die  unwept. 

Then  keep  the  softening  veil  in  mercy  drawn, 
Thou  who  canst  love  us,  tho'  Thou  read  us  true ; 

As  on  the  bosom  of  th'  aerial  lawn 

Melts  in  dim  haze  each  coarse  ungentle  hue. 

So  too  may  soothing  Hope  thy  leave  enjoy 
Sweet  visions  of  long  sever'd  hearts  to  frame  : 

Though  absence  may  impair,  or  cares  annoy, 

Some  constant  mind  may  draw  us  still  the  same. 

We  in  dark  dreams  are  tossing  to  and  fro, 
Pine  with  regret,  or  sicken  with  despair, 

The  while  she  bathes  us  in  her  own  chaste  glow, 
And  with  our  memory  wings  her  own  fond  prayer. 


TWENTY-FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  257 


0  bliss  of  child-like  innocence,  and  love 
Tried  to  old  age  !  creative  power  to  win, 

And  raise  new  worlds,  where  happy  fancies  rove, 
Forgetting  quite  this  grosser  world  of  sin. 

Bright  are  their  dreams,  because  their  thoughts  are 
clear, 
Their   memory  cheering :    but   th'  earth-stained 
spright, 
Whose  wakeful  musings  are  of  guilt  and  fear, 
Must  hover  nearer  earth,  and  less  in  light. 

Farewell,  for  her,  th'  ideal  scenes  so  fair — 
Yet  not  farewell  her  hope,  since  Thou  hast  deign'd, 

Creator  of  all  hearts !  to  own  and  share 

The  woe  of  what  Thou  mad'st,  and  we  have  stain'd. 

Thou  know'st  our  bitterness — our  joys  are  thinee — 
No  stranger  Thou  to  all  our  wanderings  wild  : 

Nor  could  we  bear  to  think,  how  every  line 
Of  us,  thy  darken'd  likeness  and  defiTd, 

Stands  in  full  sunshine  of  Thy  piercing  eye, 

But  that  Thou  call'st  us  Brethren  :  sweet  repose 

Is  in  that  word — the  Lord  dwells  on  high 

Knows  all,  yet  loves  us  better  than  He  knows. 

e  Thou  hast  known  my  soul  in  adversities.     Psalm  xxxi.  7. 
22* 


TWENTY-FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 


The  hoary  head  is  a  crown  of  glory,  if  it  be  found  in  the  way  of  righteous- 
ness.    Proverbs  xvi  31. 


The  bright-hair'd  morn  is  glowing 

O'er  emerald  meadows  gay, 
With  many  a  clear  gem  strowing 

The  early  shepherd's  way. 
Ye  gentle  elves,  by  Fancy  seen 

Stealing  away  with  night 
To  slumber  in  your  leafy  screen, 

Tread  more  than  airy  light. 

And  see  what  joyous  greeting 

The  sun  through  heaven  has  shed, 
Though  fast  yon  shower  be  fleeting, 

His  beams  have  faster  sped. 
For  lo  !  above  the  western  haze 

High  towers  the  rainbow  arch 
In  solid  span  of  purest  rays  : 

How  stately  is  its   march  ! 

(258) 


TWENTY-FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY.  259 

Pride  of  the  dewy  morning ! 

The  swain's  experienc'd  eye- 
From  thee  takes  timely  warning, 

Nor  trusts  the  gorgeous  sky. 
For  well  he  knows,  such  dawnings  gay 

Bring  noons  of  storm  and  shower, 
And  travellers  linger  on  the  way 

Beside  the  sheltering  bower. 

Even  so,  in  hope  and  trembling 

Should  watchful  shepherd  view 
His  little  lambs  assembling, 

With  glance  both  kind  and  true ; 
Tis  not  the  eye  of  keenest  blaze, 

Nor  the  quick-swelling  breast, 
That  soonest  thrills  at  touch  of  praise — 

These  do  not  please  him  best. 

But  voices  low  and  gentle, 

And  timid  glances  shy, 
That  seem  for  aid  parental 

To  sue  all  wistfully, 
Still  pressing,  longing  to  be  right, 

Yet  fearing  to  be  wrong — 
In  these  the  Pastor  dares  delight, 

A  lamb-like,  Christ-like  throng. 


260  TWENTY-FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY. 

These  in  Life's  distant  even 

Shall  shine  serenely  bright, 
As  in  th'  autumnal  heaven 

Mild  rainbow  tints  at  night, 
When  the  last  shower  is  stealing  down, 

And  ere  they  sink  to  rest, 
The  sunbeams  weave  a  parting  crown 

For  some  sweet  woodland  nest. 

The  promise  of  the  morrow 

Is  glorious  on  that  eve, 
Dear  as  the  holy  sorrow 

When  good  men  cease  to  live. 
When  brightening  ere  it  die  away 

Mounts  up  their  altar  name, 
Still  tending  with  intenser  ray 

To  Heaven  whence  first  it  came. 

Say  not  it  dies,  that  glory, 

'Tis  caught  unquench'd  on  high, 
Those  saintlike  brows  so  hoary 

Shall  wear  it  in  the  sky. 
No  smile  is  like  the  smile  of  death, 

When  all  good  musings  past 
Rise  wafted  with  the  parting  breath, 

The  sweetest  thought  the  last. 


SUNDAY  NEXT  BEFORE  ADVENT. 

Gather  up  the  fragments  that  remain,  that  nothing  be  lost.    St.  John  vi.  12. 

Will  God  indeed  with  fragments  bear, 
Snatch'd  late  from  the  decaying  year? 
Or  can  the  Saviour's  blood  endear 
The  dregs  of  a  polluted  life  ? 
When  down  th'  o'erwhelming  current  tost, 
Just  ere  he  sink  for  ever  lost, 
The  sailor's  untried  arms  are  cross'd 
In  agonizing  prayer,  will  Ocean  cease  her  strife  ? 

Sighs  that  exhaust  but  not  relieve, 
Heart-rending  sighs,  0  spare  to  heave 
A  bosom  freshly  taught  to  grieve 

For  lavish'd  hours  and  love  mis-spent ! 
Now  through  her  round  of  holy  thought 
The  Church  our  annual  steps  has  brought, 
But  we  no  holy  fire  have  caught  — 
Back  on  the  gaudy  world  our  wilful  eyes  were  bent. 

(2G1) 


262  SUNDAY  NEXT  BEFORE  ADVENT. 

Too  soon  th'  ennobling  carols,  pour'd 
To  hymn  the  birth-night  of  the  Lord, 
Which  duteous  Memory  should  have  stor'd 

For  thankful  echoing  all  the  year — 
Too  soon  those  airs  have  pass'd  away ; 
Nor  long  within  the  heart  would  stay 
The  silence  of  Christ's  dying  day, 
Profan'd  by  worldly  mirth,  or  scar'd  by  worldly  fear. 

Some  strain  of  hope  and  victory 
On  Easter  wings  might  lift  us  high  ; 
A  little  while  we  sought  the  sky : 

And  when  the  Spirit's  beacon  fires 
On  every  hill  began  to  blaze, 
Lightening  the  world  with  glad  amaze, 
Who  but  must  kindle  while  they  gaze  ? 
But  faster  than  she  soars,  our  earth-bound  Fancy  tires. 

Nor  yet  for  these,  nor  all  the  rites, 
By  which  our  Mother's  voice  invites 
Our  God  to  bless  our  home  delights, 

And  sweeten  every  secret  tear : — 
The  funeral  dirge,  the  marriage  vow, 
The  hallo w'd  font  where  parents  bow, 
And  now  elate  and  trembling  now 
To  the  Redeemer's  feet  their  new-found  treasures 

bear : — 


Not  for  the  Pastor's  gracious  arm 
Stretch'd  out  to  bless — a  Christian  charm 
To  dull  the  shafts  of  worldly  harm : — 
Nor,  sweetest,  holiest,  best  of  all, 
For  the  dear  feast  of  Jesus  dying, 
Upon  that  altar  ever  lying, 
Where  souls  with  sacred  hunger  sighing 
Are  call'd  to  sit  and  eat,  where  angels  prostrate 
fall:— 


No,  not  for  each  and  all  of  these, 
Have  our  frail  spirits  found  their  ease. 
The  gale  that  stirs  th'  autumnal  trees 

Seems  tun'd  as  truly  to  our  hearts 
As  when,  twelve  weary  months  ago, 
'Twas  moaning  bleak,  so  high  and  low, 
You  would  have  thought  -Remorse  and  Woe 
Had  taught  the  innocent  air  their  sadly  thrilling 
parts. 

Is  it,  Christ's  light  is  too  divine, 
We  dare  not  hope  like  Him  to  shine  ? 
But  see,  around  His  dazzling  shrine 

Earth's  gems  the  fire  of  Heaven  have  caught ; 
Martyrs  and  saints — each  glorious  day 


264  SUNDAY  NEXT  BEFORE  ADVENT. 

Dawning  in  order  on  our  way — 
Remind  us,  how  our  darksome  clay 
May  keep  th'  etlierial  warmth  our  new  Creator 
brought. 

These  we  have  scorn'd,  0  false  and  frail ! 
And  now  once  more  th'  appalling  tale, 
How  love  divine  may  woo  and  fail, 

Of  our  lost  year  in  Heaven  is  told — 
What  if  as  far  our  life  were  past, 
Our  weeks  all  number  d  to  the  last, 
With  time  and  hope  behind  us  cast, 
And  all  our  work  to  do  with  palsied  hands  and  cold  ? 

0  watch  and  pray  ere  Advent  dawn  ! 
For  thinner  than  the  subtlest  lawn 
'Twixt  thee  and  death  the  veil  is  drawn. 

But  Love  too  late  can  never  glow : 
The  scatter'd  fragments  Love  can  glean, 
Refine  the  dregs,  and  yield  us  clean 
To  regions  where  one  thought  serene 
Breathes  sweeter  than  whole  years  of  sacrifice  below. 


ST.  ANDREW'S  DAY. 


He  first  findeth  his  own  brother  Simon,  and  saith  unto  him,  We  hare  found 
the  Messiaa  .  .  .  And  he  brought  him  to  Jesus.     St.  John  i.  41,  42. 


When  brothers  part  for  manhood's  race, 
What  gift  may  most  endearing  prove 

To  keep  fond  memory  in  her  place, 
And  certify  a  brother's  love  ? 

'Tis  true,  bright  hours  together  told, 
And  blissful  dreams  in  secret  shar'd, 

Serene  or  solemn,  gay  or  bold, 
Shall  last  in  fancy  unimpair'd. 

Even  round  the  death-bed  of  the  good 
Such  dear  remembrances  will  hover, 

And  haunt  us  with  no  vexing  mood 
When  all  the  cares  of  earth  are  over. 

But  yet  our  craving  spirits  feel, 

We  shall  live  on,  though  Fancy  die, 

And  seek  a  surer  pledge — a  seal 
Of  love  to  last  eternally. 

23  (2G5) 


-GG  ST.  ANDREW'S  DAY. 


Who  art  thou,  that  wouldst  grave  thy  name 
Thus  deeply  in  a  brother's  heart  ? 

Look  on  this  saint,  and  learn  to  frame 
Thy  love-charm  with  true  Christian  art. 

First  seek  thy  Saviour  out,  and  dwell 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  His  roof, 

Till  thou  have  scann'd  His  features  well, 
And  known  Him  for  the  Christ  by  proof; 

Such  proof  as  they  are  sure  to  find 

Who  spend  with  Him  their  happy  days, 

Clean  hands,  and  a  self-ruling  mind 
Ever  in  tune  for  love  and  praise. 

Then,  potent  with  the  spell  of  Heaven, 
Go,  and  thine  erring  brother  gain, 

Entice  him  home  to  be  forgiven, 
Till  he,  too,  see  his  Saviour  plain. 

Or,  if  before  thee  in  the  race, 

Urge  him  with  thine  advancing  tread, 

Till,  like  twin  stars,  with  even  pace, 
Each  lucid  course  be  duly  sped. 


No  fading  frail  memorial  give 

To  soothe  his  soul  when  thou  art  gone, 
But  wreaths  of  hope  for  aye  to  live, 

And  thoughts  of  good  together  done. 


That  so,  before  the  judgment-seat. 

Though  chang'd  and  glorified  each  face, 

Not  unremember'd  ye  may  meet 
For  endless  ages  to  embrace. 


ST.    THOMAS'   DAY. 


Thomas,  because  thou  hast  seen  Me,  thou  hast  believed  :  blessed  are  they 
that  have  not  seen,  and  yet  have  believed.     St.  John  xx.  29. 


We  were  not  by  when  Jesus  came/ 

But  round  us,  far  and  near, 
We  see  His  trophies,  and  His  name 

In  choral  echoes  hear. 
In  a  fair  ground  our  lot  is  cast, 
As  in  the  solemn  week  that  past, 
While  some  might  doubt,  but  all  ador'd/ 
Ere  the  whole  widow'd  Church  had  seen  her  risen 

Lord. 

Slowly,  as  then,  His  bounteous  hand 

The  golden  chain  unwinds, 
Drawing  to  Heaven  with  gentlest  band 

Wise  hearts  and  loving  minds. 

f  Thomas,  one  of  the  twelve,  called  Didymus,  was  not  with  them  when 
Jesus  came.     St.  John  xx.  24. 

s  When  they  saw  Him,  they  worshipped  Him :   but  some  doubted.      St. 
Matthew  xxviii.  17. 

(268) 


ST.  THOMAS'  DAY.  269 


Love  sought  Him  first — at  dawn  of  morn'1 
From  her  sad  couch  she  sprang  forlorn, 
She  sought  to  weep  with  Thee  alone, 
And  saw  Thine  open  grave,  and  knew  that  Thou 
wert  gone. 

Reason  and  Faith  at  once  set  out1 

To  search  the  Saviour's  tomb ; 
Faith  faster  runs,  but  waits  without, 

As  fearing  to  presume, 
Till  Reason  enter  in,  and  trace 
Christ's  relics  round  the  holy  place — 
"  Here  lay  His  limbs,  and  here  His  sacred  head, 
"  And  who  wras  by,  to  make  His  new-forsaken  bed  ?" 

Both  wonder,  one  believes — but  while 

They  muse  on  all  at  home, 
No  thought  can  tender  Love  beguile 

From  Jesus'  grave  to  roam. 
Weeping  she  stays  till  He  appear — 
Her  witness  first  the  Church  must  hear — 
All  joy  to  souls  that  can  rejoice 
With  her  at  earliest  call  of  His  dear  gracious  voice. 


h  St.  Mary  Magdalene's  visit  to  the  sepulchre. 
1  St.  Peter  and  St.  John. 
23* 


270  ST.  THOMAS'  DAY. 


Joy  too  to  those,  who  love  to  talk 

In  secret  how  He  died, 
Though  with  seal'd  eyes  awhile  they  walk, 

Nor  see  Him  at  their  side ; 
Most  like  the  faithful  pair  are  they, 
Who  once  to  Emmaus  took  their  way, 
Half  darkling,  till  their  Master  shed 
His  glory  on  their  souls,  made  known  in  breaking 

bread. 

Thus,  ever  brighter  and  more  bright, 

On  those  He  came  to  save 
The  Lord  of  new-created  light 

Dawn'd  gradual  from  the  grave  : 
Till  pass'd  th'  enquiring  day-light  hour, 
And  with  clos'd  door  in  silent  bower 
The  Church  in  anxious  musing  sate, 
As  one  who  for  redemption  still  had  long  to  wait. 

Then,  gliding  through  th'  unopening  door, 

Smooth  without  step  or  sound, 
"  Peace  to  your  souls,"  He  said — no  more — 

They  own  Him,  kneeling  round. 
Eye,  ear,  and  hand,  and  loving  heart, 
Body  and  soul  in  every  part, 
Successive  made  His  witnesses  that  hour, 
Cease  not  in  all  the  world  to  shew  His  saving  power. 


ST.  THOMAS'  DAY. 


271 


Is  there,  on  earth,  a  spirit  frail, 

Who  fears  to  take  their  word, 
Scarce  daring,  through  the  twilight  pale, 

To  think  he  sees  the  Lord  ? 
With  eyes  too  tremblingly  awake 
To  bear  with  dimness  for  His  sake  ? 
Read  and  confess  the  Hand  Divine 
That  drew  thy  likeness  here  so  true  in  every  line. 

For  all  thy  rankling  doubts  so  sore, 

Love  thou  thy  Saviour  still, 
Him  for  thy  Lord  and  God  adore, 

And  ever  do  His  will. 
Though  vexing  thoughts  may  seem  to  last, 
Let  not  thy  soul  be  quite  o'ercast ; — 
Soon  will  He  shew  thee  all  His  wounds,  and  say, 
"  Long  have  I  known  thy  namek — know  thou  My 
face  alway." 


k  In  Exodus  xxxiii.  17,  God  says  to  Moses,  "I  know  thee  byname;"  mean 
ing  "  I  bear  especial  favour  towards  thee."  Thus  our  Saviour  speaks  to  St. 
Thomas  by  name  in  the  place  here  referred  to. 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  ST.  PAUL. 


And  he  fell  to  the  earth,  and  heard  a  voice  saying  unto  him,  Saul,  Saul,  why 
persecutest  thou  Me  ?  And  he  said,  Who  art  Thou,  Lord  ?  And  the  Lord  said, 
I  am  Jezua  whom  thou  persecutest.     Acts  ix.  4,  5. 


The  mid-day  sun,  with  fiercest  glare, 
Broods  o'er  the  hazy,  twinkling  air ; 

Along  the  level  sand 
The  palm-tree's  shade  unwavering  lies, 
Just  as  thy  towers,  Damascus,  rise 

To  greet  yon  wearied  band. 

The  leader  of  that  martial  crew 
Seems  bent  some  mighty  deed  to  do., 

So  steadily  he  speeds, 
With  lips  firm  clos'd  and  fixed  eye, 
Like  warrior  when  the  fight  is  nigh, 

Nor  talk  nor  landscape  heeds. 

(272) 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  ST.  PAUL.  273 


What  sudden  blaze  is  round  him  pour'd, 
As  though  all  Heaven's  refulgent  hoard 

In  one  rich  glory  shone  ? 
One  moment — and  to  earth  he  falls : 
What  voice  his  inmost  heart  appals  ?— 

Voice  heard  by  him  alone. 

For  to  the  rest  both  words  and  form 
Seem  lost  in  lightning  and  in  storm, 

While  Saul,  in  wakeful  trance, 
Sees  deep  within  that  dazzling  field 
His  persecuted  Lord  reveal'd 

With  keen  yet  pitying  glance  : 

And  hears  the  meek  upbraiding  call 
As  gently  on  his  spirit  fall, 

As  if  th'  Almighty  Son 
Were  prisoner  yet  in  this  dark  earth, 
Nor  had  proclaim'd  His  royal  birth, 

Nor  His  great  power  begun. 

"  Ah  !  wherefore  persecut'st  thou  Me  ?" 
He  heard  and  saw,  and  sought  to  free 

His  strain'd  eye  from  the  sight : 
But  Heaven's  high  magic  bound  it  there, 
Still  gazing,  though  untaught  to  bear 

Th'  insufferable  light. 


274  THE  CONVEESION  OF  ST.  PAUL. 

"Who  art  Thou,  Lord?"  he  falters  forth:— 
So  shall  Sin  ask  of  heaven  and  eartli 

At  the  last  awful  day. 
"  When  did  we  see  Thee  suffering  nigh,1 
"  And  passed  Thee  with  unheeding  eye  ? 

"  Great  God  of  judgment,  say !" 

Ah  !  little  dream  our  listless  eyes 
What  glorious  presence  they  despise, 

While,  in  our  noon  of  life, 
To  power  or  fame  we  rudely  press. — 
Christ  is  at  hand,  to  scorn  or  bless, 

Christ  suffers  in  our  strife. 

And  though  heaven  gate  long  since  have  clos'd, 
And  our  dear  Lord  in  bliss  repos'd 

High  above  mortal  ken, 
To  every  ear  in  every  land 
(Though  meek  ears  only  understand) 

He  speaks  as  He  did  then. 

"  Ah !  wherefore  persecute  ye  Me  ? 
"  'Tis  hard,  ye  so  in  love  should  be 

"  With  your  own  endless  woe. 
"  Know,  though  at  God's  right  hand  I  live, 
"  I  feel  each  wound  ye  reckless  give 

"  To  the  least  saint  below. 

1  St.  Matthew  xxv.  44. 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  ST.  PAUL.  275 

"  I  in  your  care  My  brethren  left, 
"  Not  willing  ye  should  be  bereft 

"Of  waiting  on  your  Lord. 
"  The  meanest  offering  ye  can  make — 
"  A  drop  of  water — for  love's  sake,"1 

"  In  Heaven,  be  sure,  is  stor'd." 

0  by  those  gentle  tones  and  dear, 
When  Thou  hast  stay'd  our  wild  career, 

Thou  only  hope  of  souls, 
Ne'er  let  us  cast  one  look  behind, 
But  in  the  thought  of  Jesus  find 

What  every  thought  controls. 

As  to  Thy  last  Apostle's  heart 

Thy  lightning  glance  did  then  impart 

Zeal's  never-dying  fire, 
So  teach  us  on  Thy  shrine  to  lay 
Our  hearts,  and  let  them  day  by  day 

Intenser  blaze  and  higher. 

And  as  each  mild  and  winning  note 
(Like  pulses  that  round  harp-strings  float 

When  the  full  strain  is  o'er) 
Left  lingering  on  his  inward  ear 
Music,  that  taught,  as  death  drew  near, 

Love's  lesson  more  and  more  : 

m  St.  Matthew  x.  42. 


276  THE  CONVERSION  OF  ST.  PAUL. 

So,  as  we  walk  our  earthly  round, 
Still  may  the  echo  of  that  sound 

Be  in  our  memory  stor'd  : 
"  Christians  !  behold  your  happy  state  : 
"  Christ  is  in  these,  who  round  you  wait ; 

"  Make  much  of  your  dear  Lord  ?" 
- 


THE   PURIFICATION. 

Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart :  for  they  shall  see  God.     St.  Matthew  v.  8. 

Bless'd  are  the  pure  in  heart, 
For  they  shall  see  our  God, 
The  secret  of  the  Lord  is  theirs, 
Their  soul  is  Christ's  abode. 

Might  mortal  thought  presume 
To  guess  an  angel's  lay, 
Such  are  the  notes  that  echo  through 
The  courts  of  Heaven  to-day. 

Such  the  triumphal  hymns 
On  Sion's  Prince  that  wait, 
In  high  procession  passing  on 
Towards  His  temple-gate. 

Give  ear,  ye  kings — bow  down, 
Ye  rulers  of  the  earth — 
This,  this  is  He ;  your  Priest  by  grace, 
Your  God  and  King  by  birth. 

24  (277) 


278  THE  PURIFICATION. 


No  pomp  of  earthly  guards 
Attends  with  sword  and  spear, 
And  all-defying,  dauntless  look, 

Their  monarch's  way  to  clear; 

Yet  are  there  more  with  Him 
Than  all  that  are  with  you — 
The  armies  of  the  highest  Heaven, 
All  righteous,  good,  and  true. 

Spotless  their  robes  and  pure, 
Dipp'd  in  the  sea  of  light, 
That  hides  the  unapproached  shrine 
From  men's  and  angels'  sierht. 

His  throne,  thy  bosom  blest, 
0  Mother  undefil'd— 
That  throne,  if  aught  beneath  the  skies, 
Beseems  the  sinless  child. 

Lost  in  high  thoughts,  "  whose  son 
"  The  wondrous  Babe  might  prove," 
Her  guileless  husband  walks  beside, 
Bearing  the  hallow'd  Dove  ; 

Meet  emblem  of  His  vow, 
Who,  on  this  happy  day, 
His  dove-like  soul — best  sacrifice — 
Did  on  God's  altar  lay. 


But  who  is  he,  by  years 
Bow'd,  but  erect  in  heart, 
Whose  prayers  are  struggling  with  his  tears  ? 
"  Lord,  let  me  now  depart. 

"  Now  hath  Thy  servant  seen 
"  Thy  saving  health,  0  Lord  ; 
"  'Tis  time  that  I  depart  in  peace, 
"According  to  Thy  word." 

Yet  swells  the  pomp  :  one  more 
Comes  forth  to  bless  her  God  : 
Full  fourscore  years,  meek  widow,  she 
Her  heaven-ward  way  hath  trod. 

She  who  to  earthly  joys 
So  long  had  given  farewell, 
Now  sees,  unlook'd  for,  Heaven  on  earth, 
Christ  in  His  Israel. 

Wide  open  from  that  hour 
The  temple-gates  are  set, 
And  still  the  saints  rejoicing  there 
The  holy  Child  have  met. 

Now  count  His  train  to-day, 
And  who  may  meet  Him,  learn : 
Him  child-like  sires,  meek  maidens  find, 
Where  pride  can  nought  discern. 


280  THE  PURIFICATION. 

Still  to  the  lowly  soul 
He  doth  Himself  impart, 
And  for  His  cradle  and  His  throne 
Chooseth  the  pure  in  heart. 


ST.   MATTHIAS'  DAY. 


"Wherefore  of  these  men  which  have  companied  with  us  all  the  time  that  the 
Lord  Jesus  went  in  and  out  among  us,  beginning  from  the  baptism  of  John, 
unto  that  same  day  that  He  was  taken  up  from  us,  must  one  be  ordained  to  be 
a  witness  with  us  of  His  resurrection.     Acts  i.  21,  22. 


Who  is  God's  chosen  priest  ? 
He,  who  on  Christ  stands  waiting  day  and  night, 
Who  trac'd  His  holy  steps,  nor  ever  ceas'd, 
From  Jordan  banks  to  Bethnhage  height : 

Who  hath  learn'd  lowliness 
From  his  Lord's  cradle,  patience  from  His  Cross ; 
Whom  poor  men's  eyes  and  hearts  consent  to  bless ; 
To  whom,  for  Christ,  the  world  is  loss ; 

Who  both  in  agony 
Hath  seen  Him  and  in  glory ;  and  in  both 
Own'd  Him  divine,  and  yielded,  nothing  loth, 
Body  and  soul,  to  live  and  die, 

24  *  (281) 


282  ST.  MATTHIAS'  DAY. 


In  witness  of  his  Lord, 
In  humble  following  of  his  Saviour  dear : 
This  is  the  man  to  wield  th'  unearthly  sword, 
Warring  unharm'd  with  sin  and  fear. 

But  who  can  e'er  suffice — 
What  mortal — for  this  more  than  angels'  task, 
Winning  or  losing  souls,  Thy  life-blood's  price  ? 
The  gift  were  too  divine  to  ask, 

But  Thou  hast  made  it  sure 
By  Thy  dear  promise  to  Thy  Church  and  Bride, 
That  Thou,  on  earth,  wouldst  aye  with  her  endure, 
Till  earth  to  Heaven  be  purified. 

Thou  art  her  only  spouse, 
Whose  arm  supports  her,  on  Whose  faithful  breast 
Her  persecuted  head  she  meekly  bows, 
Sure  pledge  of  her  eternal  rest. 

Thou,  her  unerring  guide, 
Stayest  her  fainting  steps  along  the  wild ; 
Thy  mark  is  on  the  bowers  of  lust  and  pride, 
That  she  may  pass  them  undefil'd. 

Who  then,  uncall'd  by  Thee, 
Dare  touch  Thy  spouse,  Thy  very  self  below  ? 
Or  who  dare  count  him  summon'd  worthily, 
Except  Thine  hand  and  seal  he  show  ? 


ST.  MATTHIAS'  DAY.  283 

Where  can  Thy  seal  be  found, 
But  on  the  chosen  seed,  from  age  to  age 
By  Thine  anointed  heralds  duly  crown'd, 
As  kings  and  priests  Thy  war  to  wage  ? 

Then  fearless  walk  we  forth, 
Yet  full  of  trembling,  Messengers  of  God  : 
Our  warrant  sure,  but  doubting  of  our  worth, 
By  our  own  shame  alike  and  glory  aw'd. 

Dread  Searcher  of  the  hearts, 
Thou  who  didst  seal  by  Thy  descending  Dove 
Thy  servant's  choice,  0  help  us  in  our  parts, 

Else  helpless  found,  to  learn  and  teach  Thy 
love. 


THE  ANNUNCIATION  OF  THE  BLESSED 
VIRGIN  MARY. 


And  the  Angel  came  in  unto  her,  and  said,  Hail,  thou  that  art  highly 
favoured,  the  Lord  is  with  thee :  blessed  art  thou  among  women.  St.  Luke 
i.  28. 


Oh  !  Thou  who  deign'st  to  sympathize 
With  all  our  frail  and  fleshly  ties, 

Maker  yet  Brother  dear, 
Forgive  the  too  presumptuous  thought, 
If,  calming  wayward  grief,  I  sought 

To  gaze  on  Thee  too  near. 

Yet  sure  'twas  not  presumption,  Lord, 
'Twas  Thine  own  comfortable  word 

That  made  the  lesson  known  : 
Of  all  the  dearest  bonds  we  prove, 
Thou  countest  sons'  and  mothers'  love 

Most  sacred,  most  Thine  own. 

When  wandering  here  a  little  span, 
Thou  took'st  on  Thee  to  rescue  man, 

(284) 


Thou  hadst  no  earthly  sire  : 
That  wedded  love  we  prize  so  dear, 
As  if  our  heaven  and  home  were  here, 

It  lit  in  Thee  no  fire. 

On  no  sweet  sister's  faithful  breast 
Wouldst  Thou  Thine  aching  forehead  rest, 

On  no  kind  brother  lean  : 
But  who,  0  perfect  filial  heart, 
E'er  did  like  Thee  a  true  son's  part, 

Endearing,  firm,  serene  ? 

Thou  wept'st,  meek  maiden,  mother  mild, 
Thou  wept'st  upon  thy  sinless  Child, 

Thy  very  heart  was  riven  : 
And  yet,  what  mourning  matron  here 
Would  deem  thy  sorrows  bought  too  dear 

By  all  on  this  side  Heaven  ? 

A  Son  that  never  did  amiss, 

That  never  sham'd  His  Mother's  kiss, 

Nor  cross'd  her  fondest  prayer : 
Even  from  the  tree  He  deign'd  to  bow 
For  her  His  agonized  brow, 

Her,  His  sole  earthly  care. 

Ave  Maria !  blessed  Maid  ! 
Lily  of  Eden's  fragrant  shade, 


Who  can  express  the  love 
That  nurtur'd  thee  so  pure  and  sweet, 
Making  thy  heart  a  shelter  meet 

For  Jesus'  holy  Dove  ? 

Ave  Maria !  Mother  blest, 

To  whom  caressing  and  caress'd, 

Clings  the  Eternal  Child ; 
Favour'd  beyond  Archangel's  dream, 
When  first  on  thee  with  tenderest  gleam 

Thy  new-born  Saviour  smil'd  : — 

Ave  Maria !  thou  whose  name 
All  but  adoring  love  may  claim, 

Yet  may  we  reach  thy  shrine ; 
For  He,  thy  Son  and  Saviour,  vows 
To  crown  all  lowly  lofty  brows 

With  love  and  joy  like  thine. 

Bless'd  is  the  womb  that  bare  Him — bless'dn 
The  bosom  where  His  lips  were  press'd, 

But  rather  bless'd  are  they 
Who  hear  His  word  and  keep  it  well, 
The  living  homes  where  Christ  shall  dwell, 

And  never  pass  away. 

n  St.  Luke  xi.  27,  28. 


ST.   MARK'S  DAY. 


And  the  contention  was  so  sharp  between  them,  that  they  departed  asunder 
one  from  the  other.     Acts  xv.  39. 

Compare  2  Timothy  iv.  11.  Take  Mark,  and  bring  him  with  thee  :  for  he 
is  profitable  to  me  for  the  ministry. 


Oh  !  who  shall  dare  in  this  frail  scene 
On  holiest  happiest  thoughts  to  lean, 

On  Friendship,  Kindred,  or  on  Love  ? 
Since  not  Apostles'  hands  can  clasp 
Each  other  in  so  firm  a  grasp, 

But  they  shall  change  and  variance  prove. 

Yet  deem  not,  on  such  parting  sad 
Shall  dawn  no  welcome  dear  and  glad  : 

Divided  in  their  earthly  race, 
Together  at  the  glorious  goal, 
Each  leading  many  a  rescu'd  soul, 

The  faithful  champions  shall  embrace. 

For  even  as  those  mysterious  Four, 
Who  the  bright  whirling  wheels  upbore 

(287) 


288 


ST.  MARK'S  DAY. 


By  Chebar  in  the  fiery  blast,0 
So,  on  their  tasks  of  love  and  praise 
The  saints  of  God  their  several  ways 

Right  onward  speed,  yet  join  at  last. 

And  sometimes  even  beneath  the  moon 
The  Saviour  gives  a  gracious  boon, 

When  reconciled  Christians  meet, 
And  face  to  face,  and  heart  to  heart, 
High  thoughts  of  holy  love  impart 

In  silence  meek,  or  converse  sweet. 

Companion  of  the  Saints  !  'twas  thine 
To  taste  that  drop  of  peace  divine, 

When  the  great  soldier  of  thy  Lord 
Call'd  thee  to  take  his  last  farewell, 
Teaching  the  Church  with  joy  to  tell 

The  story  of  your  love  restor'd. 

0  then  the  glory  and  the  bliss, 
When  all  that  pain'd  or  seem'd  amiss 

Shall  melt  with  earth  and  sin  away ! 
When  saints  beneath  their  Saviour's  eye, 
Fill'd  with  each  other's  company, 

Shall  spend  in  love  th'  eternal  day ! 

0  They  turned  not  when  they  went;  they  went  every  one  straight  forward. 
Ezckiel  i.  9. 


ST.  PHILIP  AND  ST.  JAMES. 


Let  the  brother  of  low  degree  rejoice  in  that  he  is  exalted :  but  the  rich,  in 
that  he  is  made  low.     St.  James  i.  9,  10. 


Dear  is  the  morning  gale  of  spring, 
And  dear  th'  autumnal  eve ; 

But  few  delights  can  summer  bring 
A  Poet's  crown  to  weave. 


Her  bowers  are  mute,  her  fountains  dry, 

And  ever  Fancy's  wing 
Speeds  from  beneath  her  cloudless  sky, 

To  autumn  or  to  spring. 

Sweet  is  the  infant's  waking  smile, 
And  sweet  the  old  man's  rest — 

But  middle  age  by  no  fond  wile, 
No  soothing  calm  is  blest. 

Still  in  the  world's  hot  restless  gleam 

She  plies  her  weary  task, 
While  vainly  for  some  pleasant  dream 

Her  wandering  glances  ask. — 

25  (289) 


290 


ST.  PHILIP  AND  ST.  JAMES. 


0  shame  upon  thee,  listless  heart, 

So  sad  a  sigh  to  heave, 
As  if  thy  Saviour  had  no  part 

In  thoughts,  that  make  thee  grieve. 

As  if  along  His  lonesome  way 
He  had  not  borne  for  thee 

Sad  languors  through  the  summer  day, 
Storms  on  the  wintry  sea. 

Youth's  lightning-flash  of  joy  secure 
Pass'd  seldom  o'er  His  spright, — 

A  well  of  serious  thought  and  pure, 
Too  deep  for  earthly  light. 

No  spring  was  His — no  fairy  gleam — 

For  he  by  trial  knew 
How  cold  and  bare  what  mortals  dream, 

To  worlds  where  all  is  true. 

Then  grudge  not  thou  the  anguish  keen 
Which  makes  thee  like  thy  Lord, 

And  learn  to  quit  with  eye  serene 
Thy  youth's  ideal  hoard. 

Thy  treasur'd  hopes  and  raptures  high — 
Unmurmuring  let  them  "go, 

Nor  grieve  the  bliss  should  quickly  fly 
Which  Christ  disdain'd  to  know. 


ST.  PHILIP  AND  ST.  JAMES.  291 


Thou  shalt  have  joy  in  sadness  soon; 

The  pure,  calm  hope  be  thine, 
Which  brightens,  like  the  eastern  moon, 

As  day's  wild  lights  decline. 

Thus  souls,  by  nature  pitch'd  too  high, 
By  sufferings  plung'd  too  low, 

Meet  in  the  Church's  middle  sky, 
Half  way  'twixt  joy  and  woe, 

To  practise  there  the  soothing  lay 
That  sorrow  best  relieves  : 

Thankful  for  all  God  takes  away, 
Humbled  by  all  He  gives, 


ST.   BARNABAS. 

The  son  of  consolation,  a  Levite.     Acts  iv.  36. 

The  world's  a  room  of  sickness,  where  each  heart 

Knows  its  own  anguish  and  unrest ; 
The  truest  wisdom  there,  the  noblest  art, 

Is  his,  who  skills  of  comfort  best ; 
Whom  by  the  softest  step  and  gentlest  tone 
Enfeebled  spirits  own, 
And  love  to  raise  the  languid  eye, 
When,  like  an  angel's  wing,  they  feel  him  fleeting 
by:- 


Feel  only — for  in  silence  gently  gliding 

Fain  would  he  shun  both  ear  and  sight, 
'Twixt  prayer  and  watchful  Love  his  heart  di- 
viding, 
A  nursing-father  day  and  night. 
Such  were  the  tender  arms,  where  cradled  lay, 
In  her  sweet  natal  day, 
The  Church  of  Jesus  ;  such  the  love 
He  to  His  chosen  taught  for  His  dear  widow'd  Dove. 

(292) 


ST.  BARNABAS. 


293 


Warm'd  underneath  the  Comforter's  safe  wing, 
They  spread  th'  endearing  warmth  around  : 
Mourners,  speed  here  your  broken  hearts  to  bring, 

Here  healing  dews  and  balms  abound  : 
Here  are  soft  hands  that  cannot  bless  in  vain, 
By  trial  taught  your  pain  : 
Here  loving  hearts,  that  daily  know 
The  heavenly  consolations  they  on  you  bestow. 

Sweet  thoughts  are  theirs,  that  breathe  serenest 
Of  holy  offerings  timely  paid,p  [calms, 

Of  fire  from  Heaven  to  bless  their  votive  alms 

And  passions  on  God's  altar  laid. 
The  world  to  them  is  clos'd,  and  now  they  shine 
With  rays  of  love  divine, 
Through  darkest  nooks  of  this  dull  earth 
Pouring,  in  showery  times,  their  glow  of"  quiet  mirth." 

New  hearts  before  their  Saviour's  feet  to  lay, 

This  is  their  first,  their  dearest  joy  : 
Their  next,  from  heart  to  heart  to  clear  the  wayq 

For  mutual  love  without  alloy : 
Never  so  blest,  as  when  in  Jesus'  roll 
They  write  some  hero-soul, 
More  pleas'd  upon  his  brightening  road 
To  wait,  than  if  their  own  with  all  his  radiance  glow'd. 

p  Having  land,  sold  it,  and  brought  the  money,  and  laid  it  at  the  Apostle's 

feet.     Acts  iv.  37. 

1  Barnabas  took  him,  and  brought  him  (Saul)  to  the  Apostles.     Acta  ix.  27. 
2fi  * 


294 


ST.  BARNABAS. 


0  happy  spirits,  mark'd  by  God  and  man, 

Their  messages  of  love  to  bear/ 
What  though  long  since  in  Heaven  your  brows 
began 
The  genial  amarant  wreath  to  wear, 
And  in  th'  eternal  leisure  of  calm  love 
Ye  banquet  there  above, 
Yet  in  your  sympathetic  heart 
We  and  our  earthly  griefs  may  ask  and  hope  a  part. 

Comfort's  true  sons !  amid  the  thoughts  of  down 

That  strew  your  pillow  of  repose, 
Sure,  'tis  one  joy  to  muse,  how  ye  unknown 

By  sweet  remembrance  soothe  our  woes, 
And  how  the  spark  ye  lit,  of  heavenly  cheer, 
Lives  in  our  embers  here, 
Where'er  the  Cross  is  borne  with  smiles, 
Or  lighten'd  secretly  by  Love's  endearing  wiles : 

Where'er  one  Levite  in  the  temple  keeps 
The  watch-fire  of  his  midnight  prayer, 
Or  issuing  thence,  the  eyes  of  mourners  steeps 

In  heavenly  balm,  fresh  gather'd  there ; 
Thus  saints,  that  seem  to  die  in  earth's  rude  strife, 
Only  win  double  life  : 
They  have  but  left  our  weary  ways 
To  live  in  memory  here,  in  Heaven  by  love  and 


praise. 


>'  Acts  xi.  22;  xiii.  2. 


ST.  JOHN  BAPTIST'S  DAY. 


Behold,  I  will  send  you  Elijah  the  prophet  before  the  coming  of  the  great 
and  dreadful  day  of  the  Lord :  and  he  shall  turn  the  heart  of  the  fathers  to 
the  children,  and  the  heart  of  the  children  to  their  fathers.     Mulachi  iv.  5,  6. 


Twice  in  her  season  of  decay 
The  fallen  Church  hath  felt  Elijah's  eye 
Dart  from  the  wild  its  piercing  ray : 
Not  keener  burns,  in  the  chill  morning  sky, 
The  herald  star, 
Whose  torch  afar 
Shadows  and  boding  night-birds  fly. 

Methinks  we  need  him  once  again, 
That  favour'd  Seer — but  where  shall  he  be  found  ? 

By  Cherith's  side  we  seek  in  vain, 
In  vain  on  Carmel's  green  and  lonely  mound : 
Angels  no  more 
From  Sinai  soar, 
On  his  celestial  errands  bound. 

But  wafted  to  her  glorious  place 
By  harmless  fire,  among  the  ethereal  thrones, 

His  spirit  with  a  dear  embrace 
Thee  the  lov'd  harbinger  of  Jesus  owns, 

(295) 


29G  ST.  JOHN  BAPTIST'S  DAY. 

Well  pleas'd  to  view 
Her  likeness  true, 
And  trace,  in  thine,  her  own  deep  tones. 

Deathless  himself,  he  joys  with  thee 
To  commune  how  a  faithful  martyr  dies, 

And  in  the  blest  could  envy  be, 
He  would  behold  thy  wounds  with  envious  eyes, 
Star  of  our  morn, 
Who  yet  unborn5 
Didst  guide  our  hope,  where  Christ  should  rise. 

Now  resting  from  your  jealous  care 
For  sinners,  such  as  Eden  cannot  know, 

Ye  pour  for  us  your  mingled  prayer, 
No  anxious  fear  to  damp  Affection's  glow, 
Love  draws  a  cloud 
From  you  to  shroud 
Rebellion's  mystery  here  below. 

And  since  we  see,  and  not  afar, 
The  twilight  of  the  great  and  dreadful  day, 

Why  linger,  till  Elijah's  car 
Stoop  from  the  clouds?  Why  sleep  ye?  rise  and  pray, 
Ye  heralds  seal'd 
In  camp  or  field 
Your  Saviour's  banner  to  display. 

s  The  Babe  leaped  in  my  womb  for  joy.     St.  Luke  i.  44. 


ST.  JOHN  BAPTIST'S  DAY. 


297 


Where  is  the  lore  the  Baptist  taught, 
The  soul  unswerving  and  the  fearless  tongue  ? 

The  much-enduring  wisdom,  sought 
By  lonely  prayer  the  haunted  rocks  among  ? 
Who  counts  it  gain1 
His  light  should  wane, 
So  the  whole  world  to  Jesus  throng  ? 

Thou  Spirit,  who  the  Church  didst  lend 
Her  eagle  wings,  to  shelter  in  the  wild," 

We  pray  Thee,  ere  the  Judge  descend, 
With  flames  like  these,  all  bright  and  undefil'd, 
Her  watch  tires  light, 
To  guide  aright 
Our  weary  souls,  by  earth  beguil'd. 

So  glorious  let  Thy  Pastors  shine, 
That  by  their  speaking  lives  the  world  may  learn 

First  filial  duty,  then  divine,* 
That  sons  to  parents,  all  to  Thee  may  turn ; 
And  ready  prove 
In  fires  of  love, 
At  sight  of  Thee,  for  aye  to  burn. 

1  He  must  increase,  but  I  must  decrease.     St.  John  iii.  30. 

u  Revelations  xii.  14. 

*  He  shall  turn  the  heart  of  the  fathers  to  the  children,  and  the  heart  of  the 
children  to  their  fathers.     Malachi  iv.  6. 

To  turn  the  hearts  of  the  fathers  to  the  children,  and  the  disobedient  to  the 
wisdom  of  the  just :  to  make  ready  a  people  prepared  for  the  Lord.  St.  Luke 
i.  17. 


ST.  PETER'S  DAY. 


When  Herod  would  have  brought  him  forth,  the   same  night  Peter  was 
sleeping.     Acts  xii.  6. 


Thou  thrice  denied,  yet  thrice  belov'd/ 
Watch  by  Thine  own  forgiven  friend; 

In  sharpest  perils  faithful  prov'd, 
Let  his  soul  love  Thee  to  the  end. 

The  prayer  is  heard — else  why  so  deep 
His  slumber  on  the  eve  of  death? 

And  wherefore  smiles  he  in  his  sleep 
As  one  who  drew  celestial  breath  ? 

He  loves  and  is  belov'd  again — 
Can  his  soul  choose  but  be  at  rest  ? 

Sorrow  hath  fled  away,  and  Pain 
Dares  not  invade  the  guarded  nest. 

He  dearly  loves,  and  not  alone : 

For  his  wing'd  thoughts  are  soaring  high 
Where  never  yet  frail  heart  was  known 

To  breathe  in  vain  Affection's  sigh. 

y  St.  John  xxi.  15-17. 

(298) 


He  loves  and  weeps — but  more  than  tears 
Have  seal'd  Thy  welcome  and  his  love — 

One  look  lives  in  him,  and  endears 
Crosses  and  wrongs  where'er  he  rove  : 

That  gracious  chiding  look/  Thy  call 
To  win  him  to  himself  and  Thee, 

Sweetening  the  sorrow  of  his  fall 
Which  else  were  ru'd  too  bitterly. 

Even  through  the  veil  of  sleep  it  shines, 
The  memory  of  that  kindly  glance  ; — 

The  Angel  watching  by,  divines 
And  spares  awhile  his  blissful  trance. 

Or  haply  to  his  native  lake 

His  vision  wafts  him  back,  to  talk 

With  Jesus,  ere  his  flight  he  take, 
As  in  that  solemn  evening  walk, 

When  to  the  bosom  of  his  friend, 

The  Shepherd,  He  whose  name  is  Good, 

Did  His  dear  lambs  and  sheep  commend, 
Both  bought  and  nourish'd  with  His  blood 


'O' 


Then  laid  on  him  th'  inverted  tree, 

Which  firm  embrac'd  with  heart  and  arm, 

Might  cast  o'er  hope  and  memory, 
O'er  life  and  death,  its  awful  charm. 

z  St.  Luke  xxii.  61. 


300  ST.  PETER'S  DAY. 


With  brightening  heart  he  bears  it  on, 
His  passport  through  th'  eternal  gates, 

To  his  sweet  home — so  nearly  won, 
He  seems,  as  by  the  door  he  waits, 

The  unexpressive  notes  to  hear 
Of  angel  song  and  angel  motion, 

Rising  and  falling  on  the  ear 

Like  waves  in  Joy's  unbounded  ocean. — 

His  dream  is  chang'd — the  Tyrant's  voice 
Calls  to  that  last  of  glorious  deeds — 

But  as  he  rises  to  rejoice, 

Not  Herod  but  an  Angel  leads. 

He  dreams  he  sees  a  lamp  flash  bright, 
Glancing  around  his  prison  room — 

But  'tis  a  gleam  of  heavenly  light 
That  fills  up  all  the  ample  gloom. 

The  flame,  that  in  a  few  short  years 
Deep  through  the  chambers  of  the  dead 

Shall  pierce,  and  dry  the  fount  of  tears, 
Is  waving  o'er  his  dungeon-bed. 

Touch'd  he  upstarts — his  chains  unbind — 
Through  darksome  vault,  up  massy  stair, 

His  dizzy,  doubting  footsteps  wind 
To  freedom  and  cool  moonlight  air. 


ST.  PETEUS  DAY.  301 


Then  all  himself,  all  joy  and  calm, 
Though  for  a  while  his  hand  forego, 

Just  as  it  touch'd,  the  martyr's  palm, 
He  turns  him  to  his  task  below ; 

The  pastoral  staff,  the  keys  of  Heaven, 
To  wield  awhile  in  grey-hair'd  might, 

Then  from  his  cross  to  spring  forgiven, 
And  follow  Jesus  out  of  sight. 


26 


ST.   JAMES'S  DAY. 


Ye  shall  drink  indeed  of  My  cup,  and  be  baptized  with  the  baptism  that  I 
am  baptized  with :  but  to  sit  on  My  right  hand,  and  on  My  left,  is  not  Mine 
to  give,  but  it  shall  be  given  to  them  for  whom  it  is  prepared  of  My  Father. 

St.  Matthew  xx.  23. 


Sit  down  and  take  thy  fill  of  joy 

At  God's  right  hand,  a  bidden  guest, 
Drink  of  the  cup  that  cannot  cloy, 

Eat  of  the  bread  that  cannot  waste. 
0  great  Apostle  !  rightly  now 

Thou  readest  all  thy  Saviour  meant, 
What  time  His  grave  yet  gentle  brow 

In  sweet  reproof  on  thee  was  bent. 

"  Seek  ye  to  sit  enthron'd  by  Me  ? 

"  Alas  !  ye  know  not  what  ye  ask, 
"  The  first  in  shame  and  agony, 

"  The  lowest  in  the  meanest  task — 
"  This  can  ye  be  ?  and  can  ye  drink 

"  The  cup  that  I  in  tears  must  steep, 
"  Nor  from  the  'whelming  waters  shrink 

"  That  o'er  Me  roll  so  dark  and  deep  ?" 

(302) 


ST.  JAMES'S  DAY.  303 


"  We  can — Thine  are  we,  dearest  Lord, 

"  In  glory  and  in  agony, 
"  To  do  and  suffer  all  Thy  word ; 

"  Only  be  Thou  for  ever  nigh." — 
"  Then  be  it  so — My  cup  receive, 

And  of  My  woes  baptismal  taste  : 
"  But  for  the  crown,  that  angels  weave 

"  For  those  next  Me  in  glory  plac'd, 

"  I  give  it  not  by  partial  love ; 

"  But  in  My  Father's  book  are  writ 
"  What  names  on  earth  shall  lowliest  prove, 

"  That  they  in  Heaven  may  highest  sit." 
Take  up  the  lesson,  0  my  heart ; 

Thou  Lord  of  meekness,  write  it  there, 
Thine  own  meek  self  to  me  impart, 

Thy  lofty  hope,  Thy  lowly  prayer  : 

If  ever  on  the  mount  with  Thee 

I  seem  to  soar  in  vision  bright, 
With  thoughts  of  coming  agony,a 

Stay  Thou  the  too  presumptuous  flight : 
Gently  along  the  vale  of  tears 

Lead  me  from  Tabor's  sunbright  steep, 
Let  me  not  grudge  a  few  short  years 

With  Thee  tow'rd  Heaven  to  walk  and  weep  : 

a  St.  Matthew  xvii.  12.      "  Likewise  shall  also  the  Son  of  Man  suffer  of 
them."     This  was  just  after  the  transfiguration. 


304  ST.  JAMES'S  DAY. 


Too  happy,  on  my  silent  path, 

If  now  and  then  allow'd,  with  Thee 
Watching  some  placid  holy  death, 

Thy  secret  work  of  love  to  see ; 
But  oh,  most  happy,  should  Thy  call, 

Thy  welcome  call,  at  last  be  given — 
"  Come  where  thou  long  hast  stor'd  thy  all, 

"  Come  see  thy  place  prepar'd  in  Heaven/' 


J 


ST.   BARTHOLOMEW. 


Jesus  answered  and  said  unto  him,  Because  I  said  unto  thee,  I  saw  thee 
under  the  fig-tree,  believest  thou?  thou  shalt  see  greater  things  than  these. 
ISt.  John  i.  50. 


Hold  up  thy  mirror  to  the  sun, 

And  thou  shalt  need  an  eagle's  gaze, 

So  perfectly  the  polish'd  stone 
Gives  back  the  glory  of  his  rays  : 

Turn  it,  and  it  shall  paint  as  true 
The  soft  green  of  the  vernal  earth, 

And  each  small  flower  of  bashful  hue, 
That  closest  hides  its  lowly  birth. 

Our  mirror  is  a  blessed  book, 

Where  out  from  each  illumin'd  page 

We  see  one  glorious  Image  look 
All  eyes  to  dazzle  and  engage, 

The  Son  of  God :  and  that  indeed 
We  see  Him  as  He  is,  we  know, 

Since  in  the  same  bright  glass  we  read 
The  very  life  of  things  below. — 

26  *  (305) 


306  ST.  BARTHOLOMEW. 


Eye  of  God's  word  !b  where'er  we  turn 

Ever  upon  us  !  thy  keen  gaze 
Can  all  the  depths  of  sin  discern, 

Unravel  every  bosom's  maze  : 

Who  that  has  felt  thy  glance  of  dread 
Thrill  through  his  heart's  remotest  cells, 

About  his  path,  about  his  bed, 

Can  doubt  what  spirit  in  thee  dwells  ? 

"  "What  word  is  this  ?  Whence  know'st  thou  me  ?" 
All  wondering  cries  the  humbled  heart, 

To  hear  thee  that  deep  mystery, 
The  knowledge  of  itself,  impart. 

The  veil  is  rais'd ;  who  runs  may  read, 
By  its  own  light  the  truth  is  seen, 

And  soon  the  Israelite  indeed 

Bows  down  t'  adore  the  Nazarene. 


b  "  The  position  before  us  is,  that  we  ourselves,  and  such  as  we,  are  the  very 
persons  whom  Scripture  speaks  of,  and  to  whom,  as  men,  in  every  variety  of 
persuasive  form,  it  makes  its  condescending  though  celestial  appeal.  The 
point  worthy  of  observation  is,  to  note  how  a  book  of  the  description  and  the 
compass  which  we  have  represented  Scripture  to  be,  possesses  this  versatility 
of  power;  this  eye,  like  that  of  a  portrait,  uniformly  fixed  upon  us,  turn  where 
we  will."     Miller's  Bampton  Lectures,  p.  128. 


ST.  BARTHOLOMEW.  307 


So  did  Nathanael,  guileless  man, 
At  once,  not  shame-fac'd  or  afraid, 

Owning  Him  God,  who  so  could  scan 
His  musings  in  the  lonely  shade; 

In  his  own  pleasant  fig-tree's  shade, 

Which  by  his  household  fountain  grew, 

Where  at  noon-day  his  prayer  he  made 
To  know  God  better  than  he  knew. 

Oh  !  happy  hours  of  heaven-ward  thought ! 

How  richly  crown'd  !  how  well  improv'd  ! 
In  musing  o'er  the  Law  he  taught, 

In  waiting  for  the  Lord  he  lov'd. 

We  must  not  mar  with  earthly  praise 
What  God's  approving  word  hath  seal'd; 

Enough,  if  right  our  feeble  lays 
Take  up  the  promise  He  reveal'd ; 

"  The  child-like  faith,  that  asks  not  sights 
"  Waits  not  for  wonder  or  for  sign, 

"  Believes,  because  it  loves,  aright— 

':  Shall  see  things  greater,  things  divine. 

"  Heaven  to  that  gaze  shall  open  wide, 
"  And  brightest  angels  to  and  fro 

"  On  messages  of  love  shall  glide 

"  'Twixt  God  above  and  Christ  below." 


So  still  the  guileless  man  is  blest, 

To  him  all  crooked  paths  are  straight, 

Him  on  his  way  to  endless  rest 

Fresh,  ever-growing  strengths  await.c 


b" 


God's  witnesses,  a  glorious  host, 
Compass  him  daily  like  a  cloud ; 

Martyrs  and  seers,  the  sav'd  and  lost, 
Mercies  and  judgments  cry  aloud. 

Yet  shall  to  him  the  still  small  voice, 
That  first  into  his  bosom  found 

A  way,  and  fix'd  his  wavering  choice, 
Nearest  and  dearest  ever  sound. 

0  They  go  from  strength  to  strength.     Psalm  lxxxiv.  7. 


ST.   MATTHEW. 


And  after  these  things  He  went  forth,  and  saw  a  publican,  named  Levi, 
sitting  at  the  receipt  of  custom  :  and  He  said  unto  him,  Follow  Me.  And 
he  left  all,  rose  up,  and  followed  Ilitu.     St.  Luke  v.  27,  28. 


Ye  hermits  blest,  ye  holy  maids, 
The  nearest  Heaven  on  earth, 
Who  talk  with  God  in  shadowy  glades, 

Free  from  rude  care  and  mirth ; 
To  whom  some  viewless  teacher  brings 
The  secret  lore  of  rural  things, 
The  moral  of  each  fleeting  cloud  and  gale, 
The  whispers  from  above,  that  haunt  the  twilight 
vale : 

Say,  when  in  pity  ye  have  gaz'd 

On  the  wreath'd  smoke  afar, 
That  o'er  some  town,  like  mist  uprais'd, 

Hung  hiding  sun  and  star, 
Then  as  ye  turn'd  your  weary  eye 
To  the  green  earth  and  open  sky, 
Were  ye  not  fain  to  doubt  how  Faith  could  dwell 
Amid  that  dreary  glare,  in  this  world's  citadel  ? 

(309) 


310  ST.  MATTHEW. 


But  Love's  a  flower  that  will  not  die 

For  lack  of  leafy  screen, 
And  Christian  Hope  can  cheer  the  eye 

That  ne'er  saw  vernal  green  ; 
Then  be  ye  sure  that  Love  can  bless 
Even  in  this  crowded  loneliness, 
Where  ever-moving  myriads  seem  to  say, 
Go — thou  art  nought  to  us,  nor  we  to  thee — away ! 

There  are  in  this  loud  stunning  tide 

Of  human  care  and  crime, 
With  whom  the  melodies  abide 

Of  th'  everlasting  chime ; 
Who  carry  music  in  their  heart 
Through  dusky  lane  and  wrangling  mart, 
Plying  their  daily  task  with  busier  feet, 
Because  their  secret  souls  a  holy  strain  repeat. 

How  sweet  to  them,  in  such  brief  rest 

As  thronging  cares  afford, 
In  thought  to  wander,  fancy-blest, 

To  where  their  gracious  Lord, 
In  vain,  to  win  proud  Pharisees, 
Spake,  and  was  heard  by  fell  disease*1 — 

d  It  seems  from  St.  Matthew  ix.  8,  9,  that  the  calling  of  Levi  took  place 
immediately  after  the  healing  of  the  paralytic  in  the  presence  of  the 
Pharisees. 


But  not  in  vain,  beside  yon  breezy  lake, 
Bade  the  meek  Publican  his  gainful  seat  forsake : 

At  once  he  rose,  and  left  his  gold ; 

His  treasure  and  his  heart 
Transferr'd,  where  he  shall  safe  behold 

Earth  and  her  idols  part ; 
While  he  beside  his  endless  store 
Shall  sit,  and  floods  unceasing  pour 
Of  Christ's  true  riches  o'er  all  time  and  space, 
First  angel  of  His  Church,  first  steward  of  His  Grace. 

Nor  can  ye  not  delight  to  think0 

Where  He  vouchsaf'd  to  eat, 
How  the  Most  Holy  did  not  shrink 

From  touch  of  sinner's  meat; 
What  worldly  hearts  and  hearts  impure 
Went  with  Him  through  the  rich  man's  door, 
That  we  might  learn  of  Him  lost  souls  to  love, 
And  view  His  least  and  worst  with  hope  to  meet 
above. 

These  gracious  lines  shed  Gospel  light 

On  Mammon's  gloomiest  cells, 
As  on  some  city's  cheerless  night 

The  tide  of  sun-rise  swells, 


e  St.  Matthew  ix.  10. 


►  12  ST.  MATTHEW. 


Till  tower,  and  dome,  and  bridge-way  proud 
Are  mantled  with  a  golden  cloud, 
And  to  wise  hearts  this  certain  hope  is  given ; 
"  No  mist  that  man  may  raise,  shall  hide  the  eye  of 
"  Heaven." 

And  oh !  if  even  on  Babel  shine 

Such  gleams  of  Paradise, 
Should  not  their  peace  be  peace  divine. 

Who  day  by  day  arise 
To  look  on  clearer  heavens,  and  scan 
The  work  of  God  untouched  by  man  ? 
Shame  on  us,  who  about  us  Babel  bear, 
And  live  in  Paradise,  as  if  God  was  not  there ! 


ST.  MICHAEL  AND  ALL  ANGELS. 


Are  they  not  all  ministering  spirits,  sent  forth  to  minister  for  them  who 
shall  be  heirs  of  salvation?     Hebrews  i.  14. 


Ye  stars  that  round  the  Sun  of  righteousness 

In  glorious  order  roll, 
With  harps  for  ever  strung,  ready  to  bless 

God  for  each  rescued  soul, 
Ye  eagle  spirits,  that  build  in  light  divine, 

Oh  !  think  of  us  to-day, 
Faint  warblers  of  this  earth,  that  would  combine 
Our  trembling  notes  with  your  accepted  lay. 


Your  amarant  wreaths  were  earn'd ;  and  homeward 
all, 

Flush'd  with  victorious  might, 
Ye  might  have  sped  to  keep  high  festival, 

And  revel  in  the  light ; 
But  meeting  us,  weak  worldlings,  on  our  way, 

Tired  ere  the  fight  begun, 
Ye  turn'd  to  help  us  in  th'  unequal  fray, 
Remembering  Whose  we  were,  how  dearly  won  : 

27  (313) 


314         ST.  MICHAEL  AND  ALL  ANGELS. 

Remembering  Bethlehem,  and  that  glorious  night 

When  ye,  who  used  to  soar 
Diverse  along  all  space  in  fiery  flight, 

Came  thronging  to  adore 
Your  God  new-born,  and  made  a  sinner's  child ; 

As  if  the  stars  should  leave 
Their  stations  in  the  far  ethereal  wild, 
And  round  the  sun  a  radiant  circle  weave. 

Nor  less  your  lay  of  triumph  greeted  fair 

Our  Champion  and  your  King, 
In  that  first  strife,  whence  Satan  in  despair 

Sunk  down  on  scathed  wing  : 
Alone  He  fasted,  and  alone  He  fought ; 

But  when  His  toils  were  o'er, 
Ye  to  the  sacred  Hermit  duteous  brought 
Banquet  and  hymn,  your  Eden's  festal  store. 

Ye  too,  when  lowest  in  th'  abyss  of  woe 

He  plunged  to  save  His  sheep, 
Were  leaning  from  your  golden  thrones  to  know 

The  secrets  of  that  deep  : 
But  clouds  were  on  His  sorrow :  one  alone 

His  agonizing  call 
Summon'd  from  Heaven,  to  still  that  bitterest  groan, 
And  comfort  Him,  the  Comforter  of  all. 


1 


ST.  MICHAEL  AND  ALL  ANGELS.  315 

Oh  !  highest  favour'd  of  all  Spirits  create, 

(If  right  of  thee  we  deem) 
How  didst  thou  glide  on  brightening  wing  elate 

To  meet  th'  unclouded  be.am 
Of  Jesus  from  the  couch  of  darkness  rising ! 

How  swell'd  thine  anthem's  sound, 
With  fear  and  mightier  joy  weak  hearts  surprising, 
"  Your  God  is  risen,  and  may  not  here  be  found  !" 

Pass  a  few  days,  and  this  dull  darkling  globe 
Must  yield  Him  from  her  sight ; — 

Brighter  and  brighter  streams  His  glory-robe, 
And  He  is  lost  in  light. 

Then,  when  through  yonder  everlasting  arch, 
Ye  in  innumerous  choir 

Pour'd,  heralding  Messiah's  conquering  march, 

Linger'd  around  His  skirts  two  forms  of  fire : 

With  us  they  stay'd,  high  warning  to  impart ; 

"  The  Christ  shall  come  again 
"  Even  as  He  goes  ;  with  the  same  human  heart, 

"  With  the  same  Godlike  train." — 
Oh  !  jealous  God !  how  could  a  sinner  dare 

Think  on  that  dreadful  day, 
But  that  with  all  Thy  wounds  Thou  wilt  be  there, 
And  all  our  angel  friends  to  bring  Thee  on  Thy  way? 


316  ST.  MICHAEL  AND  ALL  ANGELS. 

Since  to  Thy  little  ones  is  given  such  grace, 

That  they  who  nearest  stand 
Alway  to  God  in  Heaven,  and  see  His  flice, 

Go  forth  at  His  command, 
To  wait  around  our  path  in  weal  or  woe, 

As  erst  upon  our  King, 
Set  Thy  baptismal  seal  upon  our  brow, 
And  waft  us  heaven-ward  with  enfolding  wing  : 

Grant,  Lord,  that  when  around  th'  expiring  world 

Our  seraph  guardians  wait, 
While  on  her  death-bed,  ere  to  ruin  hurl'd, 

She  owns  Thee,  all  too  late, 
They  to  their  charge  may  turn,  and  thankful  see 

Thy  mark  upon  us  still ; 
Then  all  together  rise,  and  reign  with  Thee, 
And  all  their  holy  joy  o'er  contrite  hearts  fulfil ! 


i 


ST.    LUKE. 

Luke,  the  beloved  physician,  and  Demas,  greet  you.     Colossians  iv.  14. 
Demas  hath  forsaken  me,  having  loved  this  present  world  .  .  .  Only  Luke  ia 
with  me.     2  Timothy  iv.  10,  11. 

Two  clouds  before  the  summer  gale 
In  equal  race  fleet  o'er  the  sky : 

Two  flowers,  when  wintry  blasts  assail, 
Together  pine,  together  die. 

But  two  capricious  human  hearts — 
No  sage's  rod  may  track  their  ways, 

No  eye  pursue  their  lawless  starts 
Along  their  wild  self-chosen  maze. 

He  only,  by  whose  sovereign  hand 

Even  sinners  for  the  evil  dayf 
Were  made — who  rules  the  world  He  plann'd, 

Turning  our  worst  His  own  good  way; 

He  only  can  the  cause  reveal, 

Why,  at  the  same  fond  bosom  fed, 

Taught  in  the  self-same  lap  to  kneel 
Till  the  same  prayer  were  duly  said, 

1  The  Lord  hath  made  all  things  for  Himself:  yea,  even  the  wicked  for  the 
day  of  evil.     Proverbs  xvi.  4. 

27*  (317) 


318  ST.  LUKE. 

Brothers  in  blood  and  nurture  too, 
Aliens  in  heart  so  oft  should  prove ; 

One  lose,  the  other  keep,  Heaven's  clue ; 
One  dwell  in  wrath,  and  one  in  love. 

He  only  knows, — for  He  can  read 
The  mystery  of  the  wicked  heart, — 

Why  vainly  oft  our  arrows  speed 

When  aim'd  with  most  unerring  art; 

While  from  some  rude  and  powerless  arm 
A  random  shaft  in  season  sent 

Shall  light  upon  some  lurking  harm, 
And  work  some  wonder  little  meant. 

Doubt  we.  how  souls  so  wanton  change, 
Leaving  their  own  experienc'd  rest  ? 

Need  not  around  the  world  to  range ; 
One  narrow  cell  may  teach  us  best. 

Look  in,  and  see  Christ's  chosen  saint 
In  triumph  wear  his  Christ-like  chain  ; 

No  fear  lest  he  should  swerve  or  faint ; 
"  His  life  is  Christ,  his  death  is  gain."^ 

Two  converts,  watching  by  his  side, 

Alike  his  love  and  greetings  share; 
Luke  the  belov'd,  the  sick  soul's  guide, 
And  Demas,  nam'd  in  faltering  prayer. 

e  Philippians  i.  21. 


ST.  LUKE. 


319 


Pass  a  few  years — look  in  once  more — 
The  saint  is  in  his  bonds  again ; 

Save  that  his  hopes  more  boldly  soar,h 
He  and  his  lot  unchanged  remain. 

But  only  Luke  is  with  him  now : — 
Alas  !  that  even  the  martyr's  cell, 

Heaven's  very  gate,  should  scope  allow 
For  the  false  world's  seducing  spell. 

Tis  sad — but  yet  'tis  well,  be  sure, 
We  on  the  sight  should  muse  awhile, 

Nor  deem  our  shelter  all  secure 
Even  in  the  Church's  holiest  aisle. 


Vainly  before  the  shrine  he  bends, 

Who  knows  not  the  true  pilgrim's  part 

The  martyr's  cell  no  safety  lends 

To  him,  who  wants  the  martyr's  heart. 

But  if  there  be,  who  follows  Paul 
As  Paul  his  Lord,  in  life  and  death, 

Where'er  an  aching  heart  may  call, 
Ready  to  speed  and  take  no  breath ; 


h  In  the  Epistle  to  the  Philippians,  "I  know  that  I  shall  abide  and  continue 
with  you  all :  ...  I  count  not  myself  to  have  apprehended."    chap.  i.  25  ;  iii.  13. 
In  2  Timothy,  "  I  have  finished  my  course,"  <fcc.  chap.  iv.  7,  8. 


320  ST.  LUKE. 

Whose  joy  is,  to  the  wandering  sheep 
To  tell  of  the  great  Shepherd's  love ;' 

To  learn  of  mourners  while  they  weep 
The  music  that  makes  mirth  above; 

Who  makes  the  Saviour  all  his  theme, 
The  Gospel  all  his  pride  and  praise — 

Approach  :  for  thou  canst  feel  the  gleam 
That  round  the  martyr's  death-bed  plays : 

Thou  hast  an  ear  for  angels'  songs, 
A  breath  the  Gospel  trump  to  fill, 

And  taught  by  thee  the  Church  prolongs 
Her  hymns  of  high  thanksgiving  still. k 

Ah !  dearest  mother,  since  too  oft 

The  world  yet  wins  some  Demas  frail 

Even  from  thine  arms,  so  kind  and  soft, 
May  thy  tried  comforts  never  fail ! 

When  faithless  ones  forsake  thy  wing, 
Be  it  vouchsaf 'd  thee  still  to  see 

Thy  true,  fond  nurslings  closer  cling, 
Cling  closer  to  their  Lord  and  thee. 

»  The  Gospel  of  St.  Luke  abounds  most  in  such  passages  as  the  parable  of 
the  lost  sheep,  which  display  God's  mercy  to  penitent  sinners. 

k  The  Christian  hymns  are  all  in  St.  Luke :  the  Magnificat,  Benedictus,  and 
Nunc  Dimittis. 


ST.  SIMON  AND  ST.  JUDE. 


That  ye  should  earnestly  contend  for1  the  faith  which  was  once  delivered 
unto  the  saints.     St.  Jucle  3. 


Seest  thou,  how  tearful  and  alone, 
And  drooping  like  a  wounded  dove, 

The  Cross  in  sight,  but  Jesus  gone, 
The  widow'd  Church  is  fain  to  rove  ? 

Who  is  at  hand  that  loves  the  Lord  ?m 

Make  haste,  and  take  her  home,  and  bring 

Thine  household  choir,  in  true  accord 
Their  soothing  hymns  for  her  to  sing. 

Soft  on  her  fluttering  heart  shall  breathe 
The  fragrance  of  that  genial  isle, 

There  she  may  weave  her  funeral  wreath, 
And  to  her  own  sad  music  smile. 

l  tirayuvi^taQai ;  "be  very  anxious  for  it:"  "feel  for  it  as  for  a  friend  in 
jeopardy." 

m  Then  saith  He  to  the  disciple,  Behold  thy  mother!  And  from  that  hour 
that  disciple  took  her  unto  his  own  home.     St.  John  xix.  27. 

(321) 


The  Spirit  of  the  dying  Son 

Is  there,  and  fills  the  holy  place 

With  records  sweet  of  duties  done, 
Of  pardon'd  foes,  and  cherish'd  grace. 

And  as  of  old  by  two  and  two" 
His  herald  saints  the  Saviour  sent 

To  soften  hearts  like  morning  dew, 
Where  He  tp  shine  in  mercy  meant ; 

So  evermore  He  deems  His  Name 
Best  honour'd  and  His  way  prepar'd, 

When  watching  by  His  altar-flame 
He  sees  His  servants  duly  pair'd. 

He  loves  when  age  and  youth  are  met, 
Fervent  old  age  and  youth  serene, 

Their  high  and  low  in  concord  set 
For  sacred  song,  Joy's  golden  mean. 

He  loves  when  some  clear  soaring  mind 

Is  drawn  by  mutual  piety 
To  simple  souls  and  unrefin'd, 

Who  in  life's  shadiest  covert  lie. 

Or  if  perchance  a  sadden'd  heart 

That  once  was  gay  and  felt  the  spring, 

Cons  slowly  o'er  its  alter'd  part, 
In  sorrow  and  remorse  to  sing, 

o  St.  Mark  vi.  7  ;  St.  Luke  x.  1. 


ST.  SIMON  AND  ST.  JUDE.  323 


Thy  gracious  care  will  send  that  way 
Some  spirit  full  of  glee,  yet  taught 

To  bear  the  sight  of  dull  decay, 

And  nurse  it  with  all-pitying  thought ; 

Cheerful  as  soaring  lark,  and  mild 
As  evening  black-bird's  full-ton'd  lay, 

When  the  relenting  sun  has  smil'd. 
Bright  through  a  whole  December  day. 

These  are  the  tones  to  brace  and  cheer 
The  lonely  watcher  of  the  fold, 

When  nights  are  dark,  and  foemen  near, 
When  visions  fade  and  hearts  grow  cold. 

How  timely  then  a  comrade's  song 
Comes  floating  on  the  mountain  air, 

And  bids  thee  yet  be  bold  and  strong 

Fancy  may  die,  but  Faith  is  there. 


ALL   SAINTS'  DAY. 


Hurt  not  the  earth,  neither  the  sea,  nor  the  trees,  till  we  have  sealed  the 
servants  of  our  God  in  their  foreheads.     Revelations  vii.  3. 


Why  blow'st  thou  not,  thou  wintry  wind. 

Now  every  leaf  is  brown  and  sere. 
And  idly  droops,  to  thee  resign'd, 

The  fading  chaplet  of  the  year  ? 
Yet  wears  the  pure  aerial  sky 
Her  summer  veil,  half  drawn  on  high, 
Of  silvery  haze,  and  dark  and  still 
The  shadows  sleep  on  every  slanting  hill. 

How  quiet  shews  the  woodland  scene ! 

Each  flower  and  tree,  its  duty  done, 
Reposing  in  decay  serene, 

Like  weary  men  when  age  is  won, 
Such  calm  old  age  as  conscience  pure 
And  self-commanding  hearts  ensure, 
Waiting  their  summons  to  the  sky, 
Content  to  live,  but  not  afraid  to  die. 

(324) 


ALL  SAINTS'  DAY.  ?25 


Sure  if  our  eyes  were  purg'd  to  trace 
God's  unseen  armies  hovering  round, 

We  should  behold  by  angels'  grace 

The  four  strong  winds  of  Heaven  fast  bound, 

Their  downward  sweep  a  moment  stay'd 

On  ocean  cove  and  forest  glade, 

Till  the  last  flower  of  autumn  shed 
Her  funeral  odours  on  her  dying  bed. 

So  in  Thine  awful  armoury,  Lord, 
The  lightnings  of  the  judgment  day 

Pause  yet  awhile,  in  mercy  stor'd, 
Till  willing  hearts  wear  quite  away 

Their  earthly  stains ;  and  spotless  shine 

On  every  brow  in  light  divine 

The  Cross  by  angel  hands  impress'd, 
The  seal  of  glory  won  and  pledge  of  promis'd  rest. 

Little  they  dream,  those  haughty  souls 

Whom  empires  own  with  bended  knee, 
What  lowly  fate  their  own  controls, 

Together  link'd  by  Heaven's  decree  ;— 
As  bloodhounds  hush  their  baying  wild 
To  wanton  with  some  fearless  child, 
So  Famine  waits,  and  War  with  greedy  eyes, 
Till  some  repenting  heart  be  ready  for  the  skies. 

28 


326  ALL  SAINTS'  DAY. 


Think  ye  the  spires  that  glow  so  bright 

In  front  of  yonder  setting  sun. 
Stand  by  their  own  unshaken  might  ? 

No — where  th'  upholding  grace  is  won, 
We  dare  not  ask,  nor  Heaven  would  tell, 
But  sure  from  many  a  hidden  dell, 
From  many  a  rural  nook  unthought  of  there, 
Rises  for  that  proud  world  the  saints'  prevailing 
prayer. 

On  Champions  blest,  in  Jesus'  name, 

Short  be  your  strife,  your  triumph  full, 
Till  every  heart  have  caught  your  flame, 

And  lighten'd  of  the  world's  misrule, 
Ye  soar  those  elder  saints  to  meet, 
Gather'd  long  since  at  Jesus'  feet, 
No  world  of  passions  to  destroy, 
Your  prayers  and  struggles  o'er,  your  task  all 
praise  and  joy. 


HOLY   COMMUNION. 

0  God  of  Mercy,  God  of  Might, 
How  should  pale  sinners  bear  the  sight, 
If,  as  Thy  power  is  surely  here, 
Thine  open  glory  should  appear? 

For  now  Thy  people  are  allow'd 
To  scale  the  mount  and  pierce  the  cloud, 
And  Faith  may  feed  her  eager  view 
With  wonders  Sinai  never  knew. 


Fresh  from-  th'  atoning  sacrifice 
The  world's  Creator  bleeding  lies, 
That  man,  His  foe,  by  whom  He  bled, 
May  take  Him  for  his  daily  bread. 

0  agony  of  wavering  thought 

"When  sinners  first  so  near  are  brought ! 

"  It  is  my  Maker — dare  I  stay  ? 

"  My  Saviour — dare  I  turn  away  ?" 

(327) 


328  HOLY  COMMUNION. 


Thus  while  the  storm  is  high  within 
'Twixt  love  of  Christ  and  fear  of  sin, 
Who  can  express  the  soothing  charm, 
To  feel  thy  kind  upholding  arm, 

My  mother  Church  ?  and  hear  thee  tell 
Of  a  world  lost,  yet  lov'd  so  well, 
That  He,  by  whom  the  angels  live, 
His  only  Son  for  her  would  give  ?° 

And  doubt  we  yet  ?  Thou  call'st  again ; 
A  lower  still,  a  sweeter  strain ; 
A  voice  from  Mercy's  inmost  shrine, 
The  very  breath  of  Love  divine. 

Whispering  it  says  to  each  apart, 
"  Come  unto  Me,  thou  trembling  heart  ;"p 
And  we  must  hope,  so  sweet  the  tone, 
The  precious  words  are  all  our  own. 

Hear  them,  kind  Saviour — hear  Thy  spouse 
Low  at  Thy  feet  renew  her  vows ; 
Thine  own  dear  promise  she  would  plead 
For  us  her  true  though  fallen  seed. 

°  "  So  God  loved  the  world,  that  He  gave  His  only-begotten  Son."  See  the 
sentences  in  the  Communion  Service,  after  the  Confession. 

p  Come  unto  Me,  all  that  travail,  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  refresh 
you. 


HOLY  COMMUNION. 


329 


She  pleads  by  all  Thy  mercies,  told 
Thy  chosen  witnesses  of  old, 
Love's  heralds  sent  to  man  forgiven, 
One  from  the  Cross,  and  one  from  Heaven. q 

This,  of  true  Penitents  the  chief, 
To  the  lost  spirit  brings  relief, 
Lifting  on  high  th'  adored  Name . — 
"  Sinners  to  save,  Christ  Jesus  came."1' 

That,  dearest  of  Thy  bosom  Friends, 
Into  the  wavering  heart  descends  : — 
"  What?  fall'n  again?  yet  cheerful  rise,3 
"Thine  Intercessor  never  dies." 

The  eye  of  Faith,  that  waxes  bright 
Each  moment  by  Thine  altar's  light, 
Sees  them  e'en  now :  they  still  abide 
In  mystery  kneeling  at  our  side : 

And  with  them  every  spirit  blest, 
From  realms  of  triumph  or  of  rest, 
From  Him  who  saw  creation's  morn, 
Of  all  Thine  angels  eldest  born, 

q  St.  Paul  and  St.  John. 

r  This  is  a  true  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  men  to  be  received,  That  Christ 
Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners. 

s  If  any  man  sin,  we  have  an  Advocate  with  the  Father,  Jesus  Christ  the 
righteous. 

28* 


To  the  poor  babe,  who  died  to-day, 
Take  part  in  our  thanksgiving  lay, 
Watching  the  tearful  joy  and  calm, 
While  sinners  taste  Thine  heavenly  balm. 

Sweet  awful  hour  !  the  only  sound 
One  gentle  footstep  gliding  round, 
Offering  by  turns  on  Jesus'  part 
The  Cross  to  every  hand  and  heart. 

Refresh  us,  Lord,  to  hold  it  fast ; 
And  when  Thy  veil  is  drawn  at  last, 
Let  us  depart  where  shadows  cease, 
With  words  of  blessing  and  of  peace. 


HOLY  BAPTISM. 

Where  is  it  mothers  learn  their  love  ?— 
In  every  Church  a  fountain  springs 
O'er  which  th'  eternal  Dove 
Hovers  on  softest  wings. 

What  sparkles  in  that  lucid  flood 
Is  water,  by  gross  mortals  ey'd : 
But  seen  by  Faith,  'tis  blood 
Out  of  a  dear  Friend's  side. 

A  few  calm  words  of  faith  and  prayer, 
A  few  bright  drops  of  holy  dew, 
Shall  work  a  wonder  there 
Earth's  charmers  never  knew. 


0  happy  arms,  where  cradled  lies, 
And  ready  for  the  Lord's  embrace, 
That  precious  sacrifice, 
The  darling  of  His  grace  ! 


(331) 


332  HOLY  BAPTISM. 


Blest  eyes,  that  see  the  smiling  gleam 
Upon  the  slumbering  features  glow, 
When  the  life-giving  stream 
Touches  the  tender  brow  ! 

Or  when  the  holy  cross  is  sign'd, 
And  the  young  soldier  duly  sworn 
With  true  and  fearless  mind 
To  serve  the  Virgin-born. 

But  happiest  ye,  who  seal'd  and  blest 
Back  to  your  arms  your  treasure  take, 
With  Jesus'  mark  impress'd 
To  nurse  for  Jesus'  sake  : 

To  whom — as  if  in  hallow'd  air 

Ye  knelt  before  some  awful  shrine — 
His  innocent  gestures  wear 
A  meaning  half  divine  : 

By  whom  Love's  daily  touch  is  seen 

In  strengthening  form  and  freshening  hue, 
In  the  fix'd  brow  serene, 
The  deep  yet  eager  view. — 

Who  taught  thy  pure  and  even  breath 
To  come  and  go  with  such  sweet  grace  ? 
Whence  thy  reposing  Faith, 
Though  in  our  frail  embrace  ? 


1 


HOLY  BAPTISM. 

0  tender  gem,  and  full  of  Heaven  ! 
Not  in  the  twilight  stars  on  high, 
Not  in  moist  flowers  at  even 
See  we  our  God  so  nigh. 

Sweet  one,  make  haste  and  know  Him  too, 
Thine  own  adopting  Father  love, 
That  like  thine  earliest  dew 
Thy  dying  sweets  may  prove. 


33^ 


CATECHISM. 

Oh  !  say  not,  dream  not,  heavenly  notes 
To  childish  ears  are  vain, 

That  the  young  mind  at  random  floats, 
And  cannot  reach  the  strain. 

Dim  or  unheard,  the  words  may  fall, 
And  yet  the  heaven-taught  mind 

May  learn  the  sacred  air,  and  all 
The  harmony  unwind. 

Was  not  our  Lord  a  little  child, 
Taught  by  degrees  to  pray, 

By  father  dear  and  mother  mild 
Instructed  day  by  day  ? 

And  lov'd  He  not  of  Heaven  to  talk 
With  children  in  His  sight, 

To  meet  them  in  His  daily  walk, 
And  to  His  arms  invite  ? 

What  though  around  His  throne  of  fire 

The  everlasting  chant 
Be  wafted  from  the  seraph  choir 

In  glory  jubilant? 

(334) 


Yet  stoops  He,  ever  pleas'd  to  mark 

Our  rude  essays  of  love, 
Faiat  as  the  pipe  of  wakening  lark, 

Heard  by  some  twilight  grove  : 

Yet  is  he  near  us,  to  survey 

These  bright  and  order'd  files, 

Like  spring-flowers  in  their  best  array, 
All  silence  and  all  smiles, 

Save  that  each  little  voice  in  turn 
Some  glorious  truth  proclaims, 

What  sages  would  have  died  to  learn, 
Now  taught  by  cottage  dames. 

And  if  some  tones  be  false  or  low, 
What  are  all  prayers  beneath 

But  cries  of  babes,  that  cannot  know 

Half  the  deep  thought  they  breathe? 

In  His  own  words  we  Christ  adore, 

But  angels,  as  we  speak, 
Higher  above  our  meaning  soar 

Than  we  o'er  children  weak : 

And  yet  His  words  mean  more  than  they, 
And  yet  He  owns  their  praise  : 

Why  should  we  think,  He  turns  away 
From  infants'  simple  lays  ? 


CONFIRMATION. 

The  shadow  of  th'  Almighty's  cloud 
Calm  on  the  tents  of  Israel  lay, 

While  drooping  paus'd  twelve  banners  proud. 
Till  He  arise  and  lead  the  way. 

Then  to  the  desert  breeze  unroll'd 
Cheerly  the  waving  pennons  fly, 

Lion  or  eagle — each  bright  fold 
A  lodestar  to  a  warrior's  eye. 

So  should  Thy  champions,  ere  the  strife, 
By  holy  hands  o'er-shadow'd  kneel, 

So,  fearless  for  their  charmed  life, 
Bear,  to  the  end,  Thy  Spirit's  seal. 

Steady  and  pure  as  stars  that  beam 
In  middle  heaven,  all  mist  above, 
Seen  deepest  in  the  frozen  stream  : — 


Such  is  their  high  courageous  love. 


(336) 


And  soft  as  pure,  and  warm  as  bright, 
They  brood  upon  life's  peaceful  hour, 

As  if  the  Dove  that  guides  their  flight 
Shook  from  her  plumes  a  downy  shower. 

Spirit  of  might  and  sweetness  too  ! 

Now  leading  on  the  wars  of  God, 
Now  to  green  isles  of  shade  and  dew 

Turning  the  waste  Thy  people  trod; 

Draw,  Holy  Ghost,  Thy  seven-fold  veil 
Between  us  and  the  fires  of  youth; 

Breathe,  Holy  Ghost,  Thy  freshening  gale, 
Our  fever'd  brow  in  age  to  soothe. 

And  oft  as  sin  and  sorrow  tire 

The  hallow'd  hour  do  Thou  renew, 

When  beckon'd  up  the  awful  choir 
By  pastoral  hands,  toward  Thee  we  drew; 

When  trembling  at  the  sacred  rail 
We  hid  our  eyes  and  held  our  breath, 

Felt  Thee  how  strong,  our  hearts  how  frail, 
And  long'd  to  own  Thee  to  the  death. 

For  ever  on  our  souls  be  trac'd 

That  blessing  dear,  that  dove-like  hand, 
A  sheltering  rock  in  Memory's  waste, 

O'er-shadowing  all  the  weary  land. 


MATRIMONY. 

There  is  ap  awe  in  mortals'  joy, 

A  deep  mysterious  fear 
Half  of  the  heart  will  still  employ, 

As  if  we  drew  too  near 
To  Eden's  portal,  and  those  fires 
That  bicker  round  in  wavy  spires, 
Forbidding,  to  our  frail  desires, 

What  cost  us  once  so  dear. 

We  cower  before  th'  heart-searching  eye 

In  rapture  as  in  pain ; 
Even  wedded  Love,  till  Thou  be  nigh, 

Dares  not  believe  her  gain  : 
Then  in  the  air  she  fearless  springs, 
The  breath  of  Heaven  beneath  her  wings, 
And  leaves  her  woodnote  wild,  and  sings 

A  tun'd  and  measur'd  strain. 

Ill  fare  the  lay,  though  soft  as  dew 

And  free  as  air  it  fall, 
That,  with  Thine  altar  full  in  view, 

Thy  votaries  would  enthrall 

(338) 


MATRIMONY.  339 


To  a  foul  dream,  of  heathen  night, 
Lifting  her  torch  in  Love's  despite, 
And  scaring  with  base  wildfire  light 
The  sacred  nuptial  hall. 

Far  other  strains,  for  other  fires, 

Our  marriage  offering  grace ; 
Welcome,  all  chaste  and  kind  desires, 

With  even  matron  pace 
Approaching  down  the  hallow'd  aisle ! 
Where  should  ye  seek  Love's  perfect  smile, 
But  where  your  prayers  were  learn'd  erewhile, 

In  her  own  native  place  ? 

Where,  but  on  His  benignest  brow, 

Who  waits  to  bless  you  here  ? 
Living,  He  own'd  no  nuptial  vow, 

No  bower  to  Fancy  dear  : 
Love's  very  self— for  Him  no  need 
To  nurse,  on  earth,  the  heavenly  seed : 
Yet  comfort  in  His  eye  we  read 

For  bridal  joy  and  fear. 

'Tis  He  who  clasps  the  marriage  band, 

And  fits  the  spousal  ring, 
Then  leaves  ye  kneeling,  hand  in  hand 

Out  of  His  stores  to  brino- 


J 


340  MATRIMONY. 


His  Father's  dearest  blessing,  shed 
Of  old  on  Isaac's  nuptial  bed, 
Now  on  the  board  before  ye  spread 
Of  our  all-bounteous  King. 

All  blessings  of  the  breast  and  womb, 
Of  Heaven  and  earth  beneath, 

Of  converse  high,  and  sacred  home, 
Are  yours,  in  life  and  death. 

Only  kneel  on,  nor  turn  away 

From  the  pure  shrine,  where  Christ  to-day 

Will  store  each  flower,  ye  duteous  lay, 
For  an  eternal  wreath. 


VISITATION  AND  COMMUNION  OF  THE  SICK. 

0  Youth  and  Joy,  your  airy  tread 
Too  lightly  springs  by  Sorrow's  bed, 
Your  keen  eye-glances  are  too  bright, 
Too  restless  for  a  sick  man's  sight. 
Farewell ;  for  one  short  life  we  part : 

1  rather  woo  the  soothing  art, 
Which  only  souls  in  sufferings  tried 
Bear  to  their  suffering  brethren's  side. 

Where  may  we  learn  that  gentle  spell? 
Mother  of  Martyrs,  thou  canst  tell ! 
Thou,  who  didst  watch  thy  dying  Spouse 
With  pierced  hands  and  bleeding  brows, 
Whose  tears  from  age  to  age  are  shed 
O'er  sainted  sons  untimely  dead, 
If  e'er  we  charm  a  soul  in  pain, 
Thine  is  the  key-note  of  our  strain. 

How  sweet  with  thee  to  lift  the  latch, 
Where  Faith  has  kept  her  midnight  watch, 
Smiling  on  woe :  with  thee  to  kneel, 
Where  fix'd,  as  if  one  prayer  could  heal, 

29  *  (341) 


342  VISITATION  AND  COMMUNION  OF  THE  SICK. 

She  listens,  till  her  pale  eye  glow 
With  joy,  wild  health  can  never  know, 
And  each  calm  feature,  ere  we  read, 
Speaks,  silently,  thy  glorious  Creed. 

Such  have  I  seen :  and  while  they  pour'd 
Their  hearts  in  every  contrite  word, 
How  have  I  rather  long'd  to  kneel 
And  ask  of  them  sweet  pardon's  seal ! 
How  bless'd  the  heavenly  music  brought 
By  thee  to  aid  my  faltering  thought ! 
"  Peace"  ere  we  kneel,  and  when  we  cease 
To  pray,  the  farewell  word  is,  "  Peace." 

I  came  again  :  the  place  was  bright 
"  With  something  of  celestial  light" — 
A  simple  altar  by  the  bed 
For  high  communion  meetly  spread, 
Chalice,  and  plate,  and  snowy  vest. — 
We  ate  and  drank :  then  calmly  blest, 
All  mourners,  one  with  dying  breath, 
We  sate  and  talk'd  of  Jesus'  death. 

Once  more  I  came :  the  silent  room 
Was  veil'd  in  sadly-soothing  gloom, 
And  ready  for  her  last  abode 
The  pale  form  like  a  lily  show'd, 


By  virgin  fingers  duly  spread, 
And  priz'd  for  love  of  summer  fled. 
The  light  from  those  soft-smiling  eyes 
Had  fleeted  to  its  parent  skies. 

0  soothe  us,  haunt  us,  night  and  day, 
Ye  gentle  spirits  far  away, 
With  whom  we  shar'd  the  cup  of  grace, 
Then  parted ;  ye  to  Christ's  embrace, 
We  to  the  lonesome  world  again, 
Yet  mindful  of  th'  unearthly  strain 
Practis'd  with  you  at  Eden's  door, 
To  be  sung  on,  where  angels  soar, 
With  blended  voices  evermore. 


BURIAL  OF  THE  DEAD. 


And  when  the  Lord  saw  her,  lie  had  compassion  on  her,  and  said  unto  her, 
Weep  not.  And  He  came  and  touched  the  bier;  and  they  that  bare  him  stood 
still.     And  He  said,  Young  man,  I  say  unto  thee,  Arise.     St.  Luke  vii.  13,  14. 


Who  says,  the  wan  autumnal  sun 

Beams  with  too  faint  a  smile 
To  light  up  nature's  face  again, 
And,  though  the  year  be  on  the  wane, 

With  thoughts  of  spring  the  heart  beguile  ? 

Waft  him,  thou  soft  September  breeze, 

And  gently  lay  him  down 
Within  some  circling  woodland  wall, 
Where  bright  leaves,  reddening  ere  they  fall, 

Wave  gaily  o'er  the  waters  brown. 

And  let  some  graceful  arch  be  there 

With  wreathed  mullions  proud, 
With  burnish'd  ivy  for  its  screen, 
And  moss,  that  glows  as  fresh  and  green 

As  though  beneath  an  April  cloud. — 

(344) 


BURIAL  OF  THE  DEAD. 


345 


Who  says  the  widow's  heart  must  break, 

The  childless  mother  sink  ? — 
A  kinder  truer  voice  I  hear, 
Which  even  beside  that  mournful  bier 

Whence  parents'  eyes  would  hopeless  shrink, 

Bids  weep  no  more— 0  heart  bereft, 
How  strange,  to  thee,  that  sound  ! 

A  widow  o'er  her  only  son, 

Feeling  more  bitterly  alone 

For  friends  that  press  officious  round. 

Yet  is  the  voice  of  comfort  heard, 
For  Christ  hath  touch'd  the  bier— 

The  bearers  wait  with  wondering  eye, 

The  swelling  bosom  dares  not  sigh. 
But  all  is  still,  'twixt  hope  and  fear. 

Even  such  an  awful  soothing  calm 

We  sometimes  see  alight 
On  Christian  mourners,  while  they  wait 
In  silence,  by  some  church-yard  gate, 

Their  summons  to  the  holy  rite. 

And  such  the  tones  of  love,  which  break 

The  stillness  of  that  hour, 
Quelling  th'  embitter'd  spirit's  strife— 
"  The  Resurrection  and  the  Life 

"  Am  I:  believe,  and  die  no  more." 


Unchang'd  that  voice — and  though  not  yet 

The  dead  sit  up  and  speak, 
Answering  its  call ;  we  gladlier  rest 
Our  darlings  on  earth's  quiet  breast, 

And  our  hearts  feel  they  must  not  break. 

Far  better  they  should  sleep  awhile 

Within  the  Church's  shade, 
Nor  wake,  until  new  heaven,  new  earth, 
Meet  for  their  new  immortal  birth, 

For  their  abiding-place  be  made, 

Than  wander  back  to  life,  and  lean 

On  our  frail  love  once  more. 
'Tis  sweet,  as  year  by  year  we  lose 
Friends  out  of  sight,  in  faith  to  muse 

How  grows  in  Paradise  our  store. 

Then  pass,  ye  mourners,  cheerly  on, 

Through  prayer  unto  the  tomb, 
Still,  as  ye  watch  life's  falling  leaf, 
Gathering  from  every  loss  and  grief 
Hope  of  new  spring  and  endless  home. 

Then  cheerly  to  your  work  again 
With  hearts  new-brac'd  and  set 
To  run,  untir'd,  love's  blessed  race, 
As  meet  for  those,  wTho  face  to  face 
Over  the  grave  their  Lord  have  met. 


CHURCHING  OF  WOMEN. 


Is  there,  in  bowers  of  endless  spring, 

One  known  from  all  the  seraph  band 
By  softer  voice,  by  smile  and  wing 
More  exquisitely  bland ! 
Here  let  him  speed :  to-day  this  hallow'd  air 
Is  fragrant  with  a  mother's  first  and  fondest  prayer. 

Only  let  Heaven  her  fire  impart, 

No  richer  incense  breathes  on  earth  : 
"  A  spouse  with  all  a  daughter's  heart," 
Fresh  from  the  perilous  birth, 
To  the  great  Father  lifts  her  pale  glad  eye, 
Like  a  reviving  flower  when  storms  are  hush'd  on 
high. 

0  what  a  treasure  of  sweet  thought 

Is  here  !  what  hope  and  joy  and  love 
All  in  one  tender  bosom  brought, 
For  the  all-gracious  Dove 
To  brood  o'er  silently,  and  form  for  Heaven 
Each  passionate  wish  and  dream  to  dear  affection 


given. 


(347) 


Her  fluttering  heart,  too  keenly  blest, 

Would  sicken,  but  she  leans  on  Thee, 
Sees  Thee  by  faith  on  Mary's  breast, 
And  breathes  serene  and  free. 
Slight  tremblings  only  of  her  veil  declare1 
Soft  answers  duly  whisper'd  to  each  soothing  prayer. 

We  are  too  weak,  when  Thou  dost  bless, 

To  bear  the  joy — help,  Virgin-born  ! 
By  Thine  own  mother's  first  caress, 
That  wak'd  Thy  natal  morn  ! 
Help,  by  the  unexpressive  smile,  that  made 
A  Heaven  on  earth  around  the  couch  where  Thou 
wast  laid ! 

*  When  the  woman  comes  to  this  office,  the  rubric  (as  it  was  altered  at  the 
last  review)  directs  that  she  be  decently  apparelled,  i.  e.  as  the  custom  and  order 
was  formerly,  with  a  white  covering  or  veil.  Wheatly  on  the  Common  Prayer,  c. 
xiii.  sect.  i.  3. 


COMMINATION. 

The  prayers  are  o'er :  why  slumberest  thou  so 
long, 
Thou  voice  of  sacred  song  ? 
Why  swell'st  thou  not,  like  breeze  from  moun- 
tain cave, 
High  o'er  the  echoing  nave, 
The  white  rob'd  priest,  as  otherwhile,  to  guide, 
Up  to  the  Altar's  northern  side  ? — 
A  mourner's  tale  of  shame  and  sad  decay 
Keeps  back  our  glorious  sacrifice  to-day  : 

The  widow'd   Spouse  of  Christ :    with   ashes 
crown'd, 
Her  Christmas  robes  unbound, 
She  lingers  in  the  porch  for  grief  and  fear, 

Keeping  her  penance  drear. — 
0  is  it  nought  to  you  ?  that  idly  gay 
Or  coldly  proud,  ye  turn  away  ? 
But  if  her  warning  tears  in  vain  be  spent, 
Lo,  to  her  alter'd  eye  the  Law's  stern  fires  are  lent. 

30  (849) 


Each  awful  curse,  that  on  mount  Ebal  rang, 

Peals  with  a  direr  clang 

Out  of  that  silver  trump,  whose  tones  of  Old 

Forgiveness  only  told. 

And  who  can  blame  the  mother's  fond  affright,11 

Who  sporting  on  some  giddy  height 

Her  infant  sees,  and  springs  with  hurried  hand 

To  snatch  the  rover  from  the  dangerous  strand  ? 

• 
But  surer  than  all  words  the  silent  spell 

(So  Grecian  legends  tell) 

When  to  her  bird,  too  early  scap'd  the  nest, 

She  bares  her  tender  breast, 

Smiling  he  turns  and  spreads  his  little  wing, 

There  to  glide  home,  there  safely  cling. 

So  yearns  our  mother  o'er  each  truant  son, 

So  softly  falls  the  lay  in  fear  and  wrath  begun. 

Wayward  and  spoil'd  she  knows  ye :  the  keen 
blast, 
That  brac'd  her  youth,  is  past : 
The  rod  of  discipline,  the  robe  of  shame — 

She  bears  them  in  your  name : 
Only  return  and  love.     But  ye  perchance 
Are  deeper  plung'd  in  sorrow's  trance  : 

u  Alluding  to  a  beautiful  anecdote  in  the  Greek  Anthology,  torn.  i.  180,  ed. 
Jacobs.     See  Pleasures  of  Memory,  p.  133. 


C0MMINAT10N.  351 


Your  God  forgives,  but  ye  no  comfort  take 
Till  ye  have  scourg'd  the  sins  that  in  your  conscience 
ache. 

0  heavy  laden  soul !  kneel  down  and  hear 

Thy  penance  in  calm  fear  : 
With  thine  own  lips  to  sentence  all  thy  sin; 

Then,  by  the  judge  within 
Absolv'd,  in  thankful  sacrifice  to  part 
For  ever  with  thy  sullen  heart, 
Nor  on  remorseful  thoughts  to  brood,  and  stain 
The  glory  of  the  Cross,  forgiven  and  cheer'd  in  vain. 


FORMS  OF  PRAYER  TO  BE  USED  AT  SEA. 


When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee.     Isaiah  xliii.  2 . 

The  shower  of  moonlight  falls  as  still  and  clear 

Upon  the  desert  main, 
As  where  sweet  flowers  some  pastoral  garden  cheer 

With  fragrance  after  rain  : 
The  wild  winds  rustle  in  the  piping  shrouds, 

As  in  the  quivering  trees  : 
Like  summer  fields,  beneath  the  shadowy  clouds 
The  yielding  waters  darken  in  the  breeze. 

Thou  too  art  here  with  thy  soft  inland  tones, 

Mother  of  our  new  birth ; 
The  lonely  ocean  learns  thy  orisons, 

And  loves  thy  sacred  mirth  : 
When  storms  are  high,  or  when  the  fires  of  war 

Come  lightening  round  our  course, 
Thou  breath'st  a  note  like  music  from  afar, 

Tempering  rude  hearts  with  calm  angelic  force. 

Far,  far  away,  the  homesick  seaman's  hoard, 
Thy  fragrant  tokens  live, 

(352) 


FORMS  OF  PRAYER  TO  BE  USED  AT  SEA.      353 

Like  flower-leaves  in  a  precious  volume  stor'd, 

To  solace  and  relieve 
Some  heart  too  weary  of  the  restless  world ; 

Or  like  thy  sabbath  Cross, 
That  o'er  the  brightening  billow  streams  unfurl'd, 

Whatever  gale  the  labouring  vessel  toss. 

0  kindly  soothing  in  high  Victory's  hour, 

Or  when  a  comrade  dies, 
In  whose  sweet  presence  Sorrow  dares  not  lower, 

Nor  Expectation  rise 
Too  high  for  earth  ;  what  mother's  heart  could  spare 

To  the  cold  cheerless  deep 
Her  flower  and  hope  ?  but  thou  art  with  him  there, 
Pledge  of  the  untir'd  arm  and  eye  that  cannot 
sleep : 

The  eye  that  watches  o'er  wild  Ocean's  dead, 

Each  in  his  coral  cave, 
Fondly  as  if  the  green  turf  wrapt  his  head 

Fast  by  his  father's  grave. — 
One  moment,  and  the  seeds  of  life  shall  spring 

Out  of  the  waste  abyss, 
And  happy  warriors  triumph  with  their  King 

In  worlds  without  a  sea,x  unchanging  orbs  of 
bliss. 

x  And  there  was  no  more  sea.     Revelations  xxi.  1. 
30* 


GUNPOWDER  TREASON. 

As  thou  hast  testified  of  Me  in  Jerusalem,  so  must  thou  bear  witness  also  at 
Rome.     Acts  xxiii.  11. 

Beneath  the  burning  eastern  sky 
The  Cross  was  rais'd  at  morn : 

The  widow'd  Church  to  weep  stood  by, 
The  world,  to  hate  and  scorn. 

Now,  journeying  westward,  evermore 

"We  know  the  lonely  Spouse 
By  the  dear  mark  her  Saviour  bore 

Trac'd  on  her  patient  brows. 

At  Rome  she  wears  it,  as  of  old 

Upon  th'  accursed  hill : 
By  monarchs  clad  in  gems  and  gold, 

She  goes  a  mourner  still. 

She  mourns  that  tender  hearts  should  bend 

Before  a  meaner  shrine, 
And  upon  Saint  or  Angel  spend 

The  love  that  should  be  thine. 

(354) 


By  day  and  night  her  sorrows  fall 
Where  miscreant  hands  and  rude 

Have  stain'd  her  pure  ethereal  pall 
With  many  a  martyr's  blood. 

And  yearns  not  her  parental  heart, 
To  hear  their  secret  sighs, 

Upon  whose  doubting  way  apart 
Bewildering  shadows  rise  ? 

Who  to  her  side  in  peace  would  cling, 
But  fear  to  wake,  and  find 

What  they  had  deem'd  her  genial  wing 
Was  Error's  soothing  blind. 

She  treasures  up  each  throbbing  prayer : 
Come,  trembler,  come  and  pour 

Into  her  bosom  all  thy  care, 
For  she  has  balm  in  store. 

Her  gentle  teaching  sweetly  blends 
With  the  clear  light  of  Truth 

Th'  aerial  gleam  that  Fancy  lends 
To  solemn  thoughts  in  youth. — 

If  thou  hast  lov'd,  in  hours  of  gloom, 
To  dream  the  dead  are  near, 

And  people  all  the  lonely  room 
With  guardian  spirits  dear, 


356  GUNPOWDER  TREASON. 

Dream  on  the  soothing  dream  at  will : 

The  lurid  mist  is  o'er, 
That  shew'd  the  righteous  suffering  still 

Upon  th'  eternal  shore. 

If  with  thy  heart  the  strains  accord, 
That  on  His  altar-throne 

Highest  exalt  thy  glorious  Lord, 

Yet  leave  Him  most  thine  own  ; 

0  come  to  our  Communion  Feast : 
There  present  in  the  heart, 

Not  in  the  hands,  th'  eternal  Priest 
Will  His  true  self  impart. — 

Thus,  should  thy  soul  misgiving  turn 
Back  to  th'  enchanted  air, 

Solace  and  warning  thou  mayst  learn 
From  all  that  tempts  thee  there. 

And  0 !  by  all  the  pangs  and  fears 

Fraternal  spirits  know, 
When  for  an  elder's  shame  the  tears 

Of  wakeful  anguish  flow, 

Speak  gently  of  our  sister's  fall : 
Who  knows  but  gentle  love 

May  win  her  at  our  patient  call 
The  surer  way  to  prove  ? 


KING  CHARLES  THE  MARTYR. 


This  is  thankworthy,  if  a  man  for  conscience  toward  God  endure  grief,  sui- 
fering  wrongfully.     1  .SV.  Peter  ii.  19. 


Praise  to  our  pardoning  God  !  though  silent  now 
The  thunders  of  the  deep  prophetic  sky, 

Though  in  our  sight  no  powers  of  darkness  bow 
Before  th'  Apostles'  glorious  company; 

The  Martyrs'  noble  army  still  is  ours, 

Far  in  the  North  our  fallen  days  have  seen 

How  in  her  woe  the  tenderest  spirit  towers 
For  Jesus'  sake  in  agony  serene. 

Praise  to  our  God !  not  cottage  hearths  alone, 
And  shades  impervious  to  the  proud  world's  glare, 

Such  witness  yield  :  a  monarch  from  his  throne 
Springs  to  his  Cross  and  finds  his  glory  there. 

Yes :  whereso'er  one  trace  of  thee  is  found, 
As  in  the  Sacred  Land,  the  shadows  fall : 

With  beating  hearts  we  roam  the  haunted  ground, 
Lone  battle  field,  or  crumbling  prison  hall. 


(357) 


358  KING  CHARLES  THE  MARTYR. 

And  there  are  aching  solitary  breasts, 

Whose  widow'd  walk  with  thought  of  thee  is 
cheer'd, 
Our  own,  our  royal  Saint :  thy  memory  rests 

On  many  a  prayer,  the  more  for  thee  endear'd. 

True  son  of  our  dear  Mother,  early  taught 
With  her  to  worship  and  for  her  to  die, 

Nurs'd  in  her  aisles  to  more  than  kingly  thought, 
Oft  in  her  solemn  hours  we  dream  thee  nigh. 

For  thou  didst  love  to  trace  her  daily  lore, 
And  where  we  look  for  comfort  or  for  calm, 

Over  the  self-same  lines  to  bend,  and  pour 

Thy  heart  with  hers  in  some  victorious  psalm. 

And  well  did  she  thy  loyal  love  repay ; 

When  all  forsook,  her  Angels  still  were  nigh, 
Chain'd  and  bereft,  and  on  thy  funeral  way, 

Straight  to  the  Cross  she  turn'd  thy  dying  eye.y 

y  "His  Majesty  then  bade  him  (Mr.  Herbert)  withdraw;  for  he  was  about 
an  hour  in  private  with  the  Bishop  ( Juxon) :  and  being  called  in,  the  Bishop 
went  to  prayer;  and  reading  also  the  27th  chapter  of  the  Gospel  of  St. 
Matthew,  which  relateth  the  Passion  of  our  Blessed  Saviour.  The  King, 
after  the  Service  was  done,  asked  the  Bishop,  if  he  had  made  choice  of 
that  chapter,  being  so  applicable  to  his  present  condition?  The  Bishop 
replied,  'May  it  please  your  Gracious  Majesty,  it  is  the  proper  lesson  for  the 
day,  as  appears  by  the  Kalendar;'  which  the  King  was  much  affected  with, 
so  aptly  serving  as  a  seasonable  preparation  for  his  death  that  day."  Her- 
bert's Memoirs,  p.  131. 


And  yearly  now,  before  the  Martyr's  King, 
For  thee  she  offers  her  maternal  tears, 

Calls  us,  like  thee,  to  His  dear  feet  to  cling, 
And  bury  in  His  wounds  our  earthly  fears. 

The  Angels  hear,  and  there  is  mirth  in  Heaven, 
Fit  prelude  of  the  joy,  when  spirits  won 

Like  thee  to  patient  Faith,  shall  rise  forgiven, 
And  at  their  Saviour's  knees  thy  bright  example 
own. 


• 

THE  RESTORATION  OF  THE  ROYAL  FAMILY. 


And  Barzillai  said  unto  the  King,  How  long  have  I  to  live,  that  I  should  go 
up  with  the  King  unto  Jerusalem?     2  Samuel  xix.  34. 


As  when  the  Paschal  week  is  o'er, 
Sleeps  in  the  silent  aisles  no  more 

The  breath  of  sacred  song, 
But  by  the  rising  saviour's  light 
Awaken'd  soars  in  airy  flight, 

Or  deepening  rolls  along;2 

The  while  round  altar,  niche,  and  shrine, 
The  funeral  evergreens  entwine, 

And  a  dark  brilliance  cast, 
The  brighter  for  their  hues  of  gloom, 
Tokens  of  Him,  who  through  the  tomb 

Into  high  glory  pass'd  : 

r  The  organ  is  silent  in  many  Churches  during  Passion  week  :  and  in 
some  it  is  the  custom  to  put  up  evergreen  boughs  at  Easter  as  well  as  at 
Christmas  time. 

(3G0) 


RESTORATION  OF  THE  ROYAL  FAMILY. 


JG1 


Such  were  the  lights  and  such  the  strains, 
When  proudly  stream'd  o'er  Ocean  plains 

Our  own  returning  Cross ; 
For  with  that  triumph  seem'd  to  float 
Far  on  the  breeze  one  dirgelike  note 

Of  orphanhood  and  loss. 

Father  and  King,  0  where  art  thou  ? 
A  greener  wreath  adorns  thy  brow, 

And  clearer  rays  surround ; 
0  for  one  hour  of  prayer  like  thine, 
To  plead  before  th'  all  ruling  shrine 

For  Britain  lost  and  found  ! 

And  he,a  whose  mild  persuasive  voice 
Taught  us  in  trials  to  rejoice, 

Most  like  a  faithful  dove, 
That  by  some  ruin'd  homestead  builds, 
And  pours  to  the  forsaken  fields 

His  wonted  lay  of  love  : 

Why  comes  he  not  to  bear  his  part, 
To  lift  and  guide  th'  exulting  heart  ? 

A  hand  that  cannot  spare 
Lies  heavy  on  his  gentle  breast : 
We  wish  him  health ;  he  sighs  for  rest, 

And  Heaven  accepts  the  prayer. 

a  Read  Fell's  Life  of  Hammond,  p.  283—296.     Oxford,  1S06. 
ol 


Yes,  go  in  peace,  dear  placid  spright, 
111  spar'd ;  but  would  we  store  aright 

Thy  serious  sweet  farewell, 
We  need  not  grudge  thee  to  the  skies, 
Sure  after  thee  in  time  to  rise, 

With  thee  for  ever  dwell. 


Till  then,  whene'er  with  duteous  hand, 
Year  after  year,  my  native  Land 

Her  royal  offering  brings, 
Upon  the  Altar  lays  the  Crown, 
And  spreads  her  robes  of  old  renown 

Before  the  King  of  Kings, 

Be  some  kind  spirit,  likest  thine, 
Ever  at  hand  with  airs  divine 

The  wandering  heart  to  seize ; 
Whispering,  "How  long  hast  thou  to  live, 
"  That  thou  shouldst  Hope  or  Fancy  give 

"  To  flowers  or  crowns  like  these  ?" 


THE  ACCESSION. 


As  I  was  with  Moses,  so  I  will  be  with  thee  :  I  will  not  fail  thee,  nor  forsake 
thee.     Joshua  i.  5. 


The  voice  that  from  the  glory  came 

To  tell  how  Moses  died  unseen, 
And  waken  Joshua's  spear  of  flame 

To  victory  on  the  mountains  green, 
Its  trumpet  tones  are  sounding  still, 

When  Kings  or  Parents  pass  away, 
They  greet  us  with  a  cheering  thrill 

Of  power  and  comfort  in  decay. 

Behind  the  soft  bright  summer  cloud 

That  makes  such  haste  to  melt  and  die, 
Our  wistful  gaze  is  oft  allow'd 

A  glimpse  of  the  unchanging  sky : 
Let  storm  and  darkness  do  their  worst ; 

For  the  lost  dream  the  heart  may  ache, 
The  heart  may  ache,  but  may  not  burst : 

Heaven  will  not  leave  thee  nor  forsake. 

(363) 


One  rock  amid  the  weltering  floods, 

One  torch  in  a  tempestuous  night, 
One  changeless  pine  in  fading  woods  : — 

Such  is  the  thought  of  Love  and  Might, 
True  Might  and  ever-present  Love, 

When  Death  is  busy  near  the  throne, 
And  Sorrow  her  keen  sting  would  prove 

On  Monarchs  orphan'd  and  alone. 

In  that  lorn  hour  and  desolate, 

Who  could  endure  a  crown  ?  but  He, 
Who  singly  bore  the  world's  sad  weight, 

Is  near,  to  whisper,  "  Lean  on  Me : 
"Thy  days  of  toil,  thy  nights  of  care, 

"  Sad  lonely  dreams  in  crowded  hall, 
"Darkness  within,  while  pageants  glare 

"Around — the  Cross  supports  them  all." 


0  Promise  of  undying  Love  ! 

While  monarchs  seek  thee  for  repose, 
Far  in  the  nameless  mountain  cove 

Each  pastoral  heart  thy  bounty  knows. 
Ye,  who  in  place  of  shepherds  true 

Come  trembling  to  their  awful  trust, 
Lo  here  the  fountain  to  imbue 

With  strength  and  hope  your  feeble  dust. 


THE  ACCESSION. 


ma 


Not  upon  Kings  or  Priests  alone 

The  power  of  that  dear  word  is  spent ; 
It  chants  to  all  in  softest  tone 

The  lowly  lesson  of  Content : 
Heaven's  light  is  pour'd  on  high  and  low ; 

To  high  and  low  Heaven's  Angel  spake ; 
"  Resign  thee  to  thy  weal  or  woe, 

"  I  ne'er  will  leave  thee  nor  forsake." 


ORDINATION. 


After  this,  the  congregation  shall  be  desired  secretly  in  their  prayers  to 
aiake  their  humble  supplications  to  God  for  all  these  things:  for  the  which 
prayers  there  shall  be  silence  kept  for  a  space. 

After  which  shall  be  sung  or  said  by  the  Bishop  (the  persons  to  be  or- 
dained Priests  a'    kneeling),  "  Veni,  Creator  Spiritus." 

Rubric  in  the  Office  for  Ordering  of  Priests. 


'Twas  silence  in  Thy  temple,  Lord, 

When  slowly  through  the  hallow'd  air 

The  spreading  cloud  of  incense  soar'd, 

Charg'd  with  the  breath  of  Israel's  prayer. 

'Twas  silence  round  Thy  throne  on  high 
When  the  last  wondrous  seal  unclos'd,b 

And  in  the  portals  of  the  sky 

Thine  armies  awfully  repos'd. 

And  this  deep  pause,  that  o'er  us  now 
Is  hovering — comes  it  not  of  Thee  ? 

Is  it  not  like  a  Mother's  vow, 

When  with  her  darling  on  her  knee, 

b  When  He  had  opened  the  seventh  seal,  there  was  silence  in  Heaven  about 
the  space  of  half  an  hour.     Revelations  viii.  1. 

(366) 


ORDINATION.  367 


She  weighs  and  numbers  o'er  and  o'er 

Love's  treasure  hid  in  her  fond  breast, 

To  cull  from  that  exhaustless  store 

The  dearest  blessing  and  the  best? 

And  where  shall  Mother's  bosom  find, 
With  all  its  deep  love-learned  skill, 

A  prayer  so  sweetly  to  her  mind, 

As,  in  this  sacred  hour  and  still, 

Is  wafted  from  the  white-rob'd  choir, 
Ere  yet  the  pure  high-breathed  lay, 

"  Come,  Holy  Ghost,  our  souls  inspire," 
Rise  floating  on  its  dove-like  way. 

And  when  it  comes,  so  deep  and- clear 
The  strain,  so  soft  the  melting  fall, 

It  seems  not  to  th'  entranced  ear 

Less  than  Thine  own  heart-cheering  call, 

Spirit  of  Christ — Thine  earnest  given 

That  these  our  prayers  are  heard,  and  they, 

Who  grasp,  this  hour,  the  sword  of  Heaven, 
Shall  feel  Thee  on  their  weary  way. 

Oft  as  at  morn  or  soothing  eve 

Over  the  Holy  Fount  they  lean, 

Their  fading  garland  freshly  weave, 

Or  fan  them  with  Thine  airs  serene, 


308  ORDINATION. 


Spirit  of  Light  and  Truth !  to  Thee 

We  trust  them  in  that  musing  hour, 

Till  they,  with  open  heart  and  free, 

Teach  all  Thy  word  in  all  its  power. 

When  foemen  watch  their  tents  by  night, 
And  mists  hang  wide  o'er  moor  and  fell, 

Spirit  of  Counsel  and  of  Might, 

Their  pastoral  warfare  guide  Thou  well. 

And  Oh !  when  worn  and  tir'd  they  sigh 
With  that  more  fearful  war  within, 

When  Passion's  storms  are  loud  and  high, 
And  brooding  o'er  remember'd  sin 

The  heart  dies  down — 0  mightiest  then, 
Come  ever  true,  come  ever  near, 

And  wake  their  slumbering  love  again, 
Spirit  of  God's  most  holy  Fear ! 


INDEX. 


And  is  there  in  God's  world  so  drear  a  place 

And  wilt  Thou  hear  the  fever'd  heart   . 

Angel  of  wrath !  why  linger  in  mid  air 

As  rays  around  the  source  of  light 

As  when  the  Paschal  week  is  o'er 

At  length  the  worst  is  o'er,  and  Thou  art  laid 

Awake — again  the  Gospel-trump  is  blown     . 

Beneath  the  bui-ning  eastern  sky 
Bless' d  are  the  pure  in  heart 

Creator,  Saviour,  strengthening  Guide 

Dear  is  the  morning  gale  of  spring 

Father  to  me  Thou  art  and  Mother  dear 

Fill  high  the  bowl,  and  spice  it  well,  and  pour 

First  Father  of  the  holy  seed 

Foe  of  mankind  !  too  bold  thy  race 

Go  not  away,  thou  weary  soul 
Go  up  and  watch  the  new-born  rill 

Hold  up  thy  mirror  to  the  sun 
Hues  of  the  rich  unfolding  morn 

I  mark'd  a  rainbow  in  the  north 

In  troublous  days  of  anguish  and  rebuke 

Is  it  not  strange,  the  darkest  hour 


Page 
96 
52 
93 
37 
360 
128 
19 

354 
277 

177 

289 
112 
115 
MO 
83 

199 
134 

305 
13 

65 
205 
125 


(369) 


370 


INDEX. 


Is  there,  in  bowers  of  endless  spring 
Is  this  a  time  to  plant  and  build 
It  is  so — ope  thine  eyes,  and  see — 
It  was  not  then  a  poet's  dream 

Lessons  sweet  of  spring  returning 
Lord,  and  what  shall  this  man  do 
Lord,  in  Thy  field  I  work  all  day 

My  Saviour,  can  it  ever  be 

Not  till  the  freezing  blast  is  still 

Now  is  there  solemn  pause  in  earth  and  heaven 

0  for  a  sculptor's  hand 

0  God  of  mercy,  God  of  might    . 

0  hateful  spell  of  sin !  when  friends  are  nig 

0  holy  mountain  of  my  God 

0  Lord  my  God,  do  Thou  Thy  holy  will 

0  Youth  and  Joy,  your  airy  tread 

Of  the  bright  things  in  earth  and  air 

Oh  !  day  of  days  !  shall  hearts  set  free 

Oh !  say  not,  dream  not,  heavenly  notes 

Oh  !  Thou  who  deign'st  to  sympathize 

Oh  !  who  shall  dare  in  this  frail  scene 

On  Sinai's  top,  in  prayer  and  trance 

Praise  to  our  pardoning  God  !  though  silent  now 
Prophet  of  God,  arise  and  take 

Red  o'er  the  forest  peers  the  setting  sun 

Say,  ye  celestial  guards,  who  wait 

See  Lucifer  like  lightning  fall 

Seest  thou,  how  tearful  and  alone 

Since  all  that  is  not  Heaven  must  fade 

Sit  down  and  take  thy  fill  of  joy 

Soft  cloud,  that  while  the  breeze  of  May 


Page 
347 
211 
235 

188 

58 

40 

173 

140 

23 
154 

144 

327 
186 
122 
118 
341 
30 
131 
334 
284 
287 
218 

357 
202 

252 
42 
99 
321 
161 
302 
158 


INDEX.                                                  371 

Page 

Star  of  the  East,  how  sweet  art  Thou            .                  .         .         .         55 

Stately  thy  walls,  and  holy  are  the  prayers 

231 

Sweet  Dove  !  the  softest,  steadiest  plume 

87 

Sweet  nurslings  of  the  vernal  skies 

*      225 

Ten  cleans'd,  and  only  one  remain 

222 

'Tis  gone,  that  bright  and  orbed  blaze 

16 

'Tis  true,  of  old  th'  unchanging  sun 

45 

The  bright-hair'd  morn  is  glowing 

258 

The  clouds  that  wrap  the  setting  sun    .... 

182 

The  Earth  that  in  her  genial  breast      .... 

161 

The  heart  of  childhood  is  all  mirth       .         .         . 

61 

Th'  historic  Muse,  from  age  to  age 

105 

The  live-long  night  we've  toil'd  in  vain 

193 

The  mid-day  sun,  with  fiercest  glare     . 

272 

The  morning  mist  is  clear'd  away         .... 

336 

The  prayers  are  o'er :  why  slumberest  thou  so  long 

349 

The  shadow  of  th'  Almighty's  cloud 

246 

The  shower  of  moonlight  falls  as  still  and  clear 

352 

The  Son  of  God  in  doing  good 

214 

The  voice  that  from  the  glory  came 

363 

The  world's  a  room  of  sickness,  where  each  heart 

292 

The  year  begins  with  Thee           ..... 

48 

There  are,  who  darkling  and  alone 

76 

There  is  an  awe  in  mortals'  joy 

338 

There  is  a  book,  who  runs  may  read     . 

80 

They  know  th'  Almighty's  power 

69 

Thou  first-born  of  the  year's  delight    . 

.       137 

Thou  thrice  denied,  yet  thrice  belov'd 

298 

'Twas  silence  in  Thy  temple,  Lord 

366 

Twice  in  her  season  of  decay        .... 

.      295 

Two  clouds  before  the  summer  gale 

317 

Wake,  arm  divine  !  awake            .... 

72 

■\Ye  were  not  by  when  Jesus  came         .         .        , 

.      268 

372                                             INDEX. 

Page 

Well  may  I  guess  and  feel             147 

What  liberty  so  glad  and  gay 

249 

What  sudden  blaze  of  song 

S3 

What  went  ye  out  to  see 

26 

When  bitter  thoughts,  of  conscience  born    . 

196 

When  brothers  part  for  manhood's  race 

265 

When  God  of  old  came  down  from  Heaven  . 

165 

When  Nature  tries  her  finest  touch 

102 

When  Persecution's  torrent  blaze 

240 

Where  is  it  mothers  learn  their  love 

' 

321 

Where  is  the  land  with  milk  and  honey  flowing 

180 

Where  is  Thy  favour'd  haunt,  eternal  Voice 

243 

Who  is  God's  chosen  priest           .... 

281 

Who  says,  the  wan  autumnal  sun 

344 

Why  blow'st  thou  not,  thou  wintry  wind 

324 

Why  doth  my  Saviour  weep 

208 

Why  should  we  faint  and  fear  to  live  alone  . 

255 

Will  God  indeed  with  fragments  bear 

261 

Wish  not,  dear  friends,  my  pain  away 

218 

Ye  hermits  blest,  ye  holy  maids 

309 

Ye  stars  that  round  the  Sun  of  Righteousness 

313 

Ye  whose  hearts  are  beating  high 

109 

Yes — deep  within  and  deeper  yet 

90 

E.  B.  WEARS,  STEREOTTPER. 

C.  SHERMAN  &  SON,  PRINTERS. 

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style  of  the  art. 

Elegantly  bound  in  Morocco  Antique,  Turkey  Morocco,  :>r  muslin, 

gilt  and  gilt  edges. 


XII. 


ftki.  ftimww  %ttmh  of  Hfotnnn,  &r. 


RECORDS    OP   WOMAN,    SONGS    OF    THE    AFFECTIONS,    AND     SONGS    AND 
LYRICS. 

BY  MKS.  FELICIA  IIEMANS. 

Elegantly  Illustrated  with  a  Portrait  of  Mrs.  Hemans,  and  of  the  Mother  of  Mrs. 
Ilemans,  and  also  with  twelve  splendid  Engravings. 

Splendidly  bound  in  Morocco  Antique,  Turkey  Morocco,  or  muslin,  gilt  and  gilt 
edges.    1  vol.  8vo. 


XIII. 


Campbfll'5  Cample  ^oriirnl  Kfarks. 

THE  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 

Splendidly  Illustrated  with  thirteen  line  Engravings,  executed  expressly  for  this 

work,  and  by  a  Portrait  in  "  stipple"  by  Anderton,  from  a 

painting  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence, 

Elegantly  bound  in  Morocco  Antique,  Turkey  Morocco,  or  muslin,  gilt  and  gilt 
edges.    1  vol.  Svo. 


XIV. 


JlogrrH'B  Complrfe  |kftml  Itforkii. 

THE  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  SAMUEL  ROGERS. 

Splendidly  Illustrated  with  thirteen  line  Engravings,  executed  expressly  for  this 

work,  and  by  a  Portrait  in  "  stipple"  by  Anderton,  from  a 

painting  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence. 

Elegantly  bound  in  Morocco  Antique,  Turkey  Morocco,  or  muslin,  cilt  and  silt 
edges.    ■>  vol.  8vo. 


"(BMfy  3fiatj's»  ]M\ta\  Itf'orks. 

(NEW  EDITION.) 

THE  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  "EDITH  MAY." 

Splendidly  Illustrated  with  ten  line  Engravings,  executed  expressly  for  this  work, 
from  original  designs  by  Devereux,  and  a  Portrait  from 
an  original  drawing  by  Furness. 

Bound  in  Morocco  Antique.  Turkey  Morocco,  or  muslin,  gilt  and  gilt  edges. 
1  vol.  8vo. 


XVI. 


Cljoman  Jtioorrri  MrfobifH. 

IRISH  MELODIES. 

BY   THOMAS   MOORE. 

Splendidly  Illustrated  with  a  Portrait  of  the  Author,  after  Lawrence,  and  twelve 
splendid  Engravings. 

Elegantly  bound  in  Morocco  Antique,  Turkey  Morocco,  or  muslin,  gilt  and  gilt 
edges.    1  vol.  Svo. 


Sllarir  51  iluifhi  tx\m  of  tl;r  Imtt 

LYRICS  OF  THE  HEART,  WITH  OTHER  POEMS. 

BY  ALARIC  A.  WATTS. 

lEIfgantln  IlUjstratrTj  iuttf)  tfoclbc  splnioio  Engraoings. 

Splendidly  bound  in  Morocco  Antique,  Turkey  Morocco,  or  muslin,  gilt  and  gilt 
edges.    1  vol.  Svo. 


XVIII. 


<KJn  ^rnurrbialist  anb  tjjr  |kf. 

PROVERBS,    ILLUSTRATED    BY    PARALLEL    OR    RELATIVE    PASSAGES    FROM 
THE    POETS. 

To  which  are  added  Proverbs  from  the  Latin,  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian,  with 
translations  and  a  copious  Index  of  Subjects. 

BY  JAMES  OR  TON,   ESQ. 

ISIrgantln  Illustrated,  fcoitf)  illuminations  an&  Entrrauings. 

Bound  iu  Morocco  Antique,  Turkey  Morocco,  or  muslin,  gilt  sides  and  edges. 
1  vol.  8vo. 


Cabinet  of  J&afow  3rf; 

A   COLLECTION    OP    TWENTY-FIVE    SUBJECTS    FROM   MODERN   MASTERS, 

Engraved  in  the  highest  style  of  mezzotint. 
Illustrated  bn  appropriate  Strtirlrs  in  Prose  ana  Frrsr. 

NEW  EDITION. 

Bound  in  Morocco  Antique.  Turkey  Morocco,  or  muslin,  gilt  and  gilt  edges, 
i  vol.  8vo. 


XX. 


Cnbinrt  of  JEtatora  M 

(NEW   SERIES.) 

A    COLLECTION    OF   TWENTY-FIVE    SUBJECTS    FROM   MODERN    MASTERS, 

ENGRAVED   IN   THE    HIGHEST   STYLE    OF   MEZZOTINT, 

Illustrated  6g  appropriate  3rtirlrs  in  Prose  nnn  Fersf. 

This  second  series,  or  volume,  of  the  Cabinet  is  entirely  different  in  Illustrations 

and  letter-press  from  the  first  series,  or  volume. 

Bound  in  Morocco  Antique.  Turkey  Morocco,  or  muslin,  gilt  and  gilt  edges. 

1  vol.  Svo. 


x  x  r. 


CtijjjiiTB  |5rnucrbial  |$[ntopfjq. 

(duodecimo.) 
proverbial  philosophy;  a  book  of  thoughts  and  arguments 
originally  treated. 

BY  MARTIN  FARQUIIAR  TUPPER,  D.C.L.,F.R.S. 

Revised  and  authorized  edition,  splendidly  Illustrated  with  twelve  Engravings 

To  which  is  added,  An  Essay  on  the  Philosophy  of  Proverbs. 

By  James  Orton,  Esq. 

Elegantly  hound  in  Turkey  Morocco,  or  muslin,  gilt  and  gilt  edges. 
1  vol.  12mo. 


CttjftfiiTB  ^Jfltowpiitt  ^ronrrhinlf. 

PHILOSOPHIB  PKOVERBIALE. 

PAR   MARTIN   F.   TUPPER, 

Docteur  en  Droit  et  Membre  de  la  Socittt  Roydle. 

Traduite  en  Franeais  d*apres  la  Dixit-me  Edition,  par  George  Metivier. 

Kevue  et  corrigee  par  F.  A.  Bregy,  Professeur  de  Franeais 

a  la  Haute  Eeole  Centrale  de  Philadelphia. 

Elegantly  Illustrated,  and  bound  in  Turkey  Morocco  and  Arabesque. 

1  vol.  12mo. 


<Kiijiptnii  |5orfinil  Ktofa  onb  lift. 

TUPPER'S  POETICAL  WORKS  AND  LIFE. 

(authorized  edition.) 
Da  lads  for  the  Times,  A  Thousand  Lines,  Ilactenus,  Geraldine,  and  other  Poems. 

BY  MARTIN  FARQUIIAR  TUPPER,  D.C.L.,F.R.S. 

To  which  is  added  a  Biographical  Sketch  of  the  Author,  by  William 

Anderson,  Esq.,  author  of  "  Landscape  Lyrics." 

Illustrated  with  elegant  Engravings. 

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1  vol.  small  12mo. 


fitWs  CjjtMian 


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BY    REV.    JOHN    KEBLE, 

Vicar  of  Hursley. 

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after  original  designs  by  Schmolze. 

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ELEGANT  FAMILY  BIBLES— BUTLER'S  EDITION 
XXV. 

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A    SPLENDID   EDITION   OP   THE    HOLY   BIBLE,    IN   LARGE    QUARTO,    SUITED 
TO    BE    USED    IN    CHURCHES    AND    FAMILIES. 

TJiis  Bible  is  in  larger  sized  type  than  any  other  printed  in  the  United  States. 

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minations.   Turkey,  super  extra,  

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XXVI. 


%\\kvB  (3Jlrm)  imnll  (Cuinrta  Uibfc 

AN   ENTIRELY    NEW    EDITION,    STEREOTYPED    FROM    TIIE    BIBLE    SOCIETY 
STANDARD,    IN    SMALL    QUARTO. 

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Illuminations.    Turkey,  super  extra,  bevelled  boards,         .        .        .      $11.00 
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ALSO,  LATELY  PUBLISHED, 


titlmiB  on  tlje  cButbrnrrH  of  CfjrManity 

A  SERIES  OF  LECTURES  ON  TIIE  EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 

Delivered  in  the  City  of  Philadelphia  by  Distinguished  Clergymen  of  the  Protestant 
Episcopal  Church. 

EDITED 

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Bishop  of  the  Diocese  of  Pennsylvania. 
1  vol.  Royal  8vo. 


XXVIII. 


fimlvB  CJjiirrlj  Dirfiomirq. 


A  CHURCH   DICTIONARY, 

BY   WALTER   FARQUHAR    HOOK,    D.D., 

Vicar  of  Leeds. 


Edited  and  adapted  to  the  American  Church  by  a  Presbyter  of  the  Protestant 
Episcopal  Church. 


XXIX. 


jU$a$jgoOT  (Bnglbjj  Dirttonarij. 

A  NEW  DICTIONARY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE. 

BY  CHARLES  RICHARDSON. 

2  vols.  4to.,  2295  pages. 
RICHARDSON'S  ENGLISH  DICTIONARY  is  acknowledged  to  be  the  great 
nesaurus  of  English  Philology  and  Lexicography.    Its  character  as  a  work  of 

staudard  authority  is  so  well  established,  that  few  scholars  or  professional  men 

will  deem  their  libraries  complete  without  it. 


/kming  &  CthbitiM  /mitfj  lirftaanj, 

AN  ENTIRELY  NEW  AND  COMPLETE  FRENCH  AND  ENGLISH  AND  ENGLISH 
AND  FRENCH  DICTIONARY, 

Adapted  to  the  Present  State  of  the  Two  Languages. 

BY    PROF.   FLEMING, 

Professor  of  English  in  the  College  of  Louis-le-Grand,  and 

PROF.   TIBBINS, 

Author  of  several  Lexicographical  Works. 

WITH  IMPORTANT  ADDITIONS, 

BY   CHARLES    PICOT,   ESQ., 

Professor  of  French  in  the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  and 

JUDAH    DOBSON,    ESQ., 

Member  of  the  American  Philosophical  Society,  of  the  Academy  of  Natural 

Sciences,  <S.c,  &c. 

1  vol.  Royal  8vo.,  1400  pages 


XXXI. 


firming  &  Cibttes  Itmrij  Dirfionnnj. 


(ABRIDGED.) 
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DATE  DUE 

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